Guardian Angels
by Eykiel
Summary: Phantom couldn't believe his eyes when he saw Freud - his long lost lover - in his room. And Freud couldn't believe his ears when he heard that he once loved Phantom. This is their story of life after death, of death before life, and the test of their love through time. (AU, Phan/Freud. In progress)
1. The display

**Hello :D **

**This is the first multi-chaptered story I've written for maple, I hope it goes fine. It's a pretty daunting project even if I do say so myself, and school's just started (as I'm writing this A/N, I'm in school munching on breakfast and pretending my readings don't exist) so hopefully this can be updated on a regular basis... kinda regular basis. Kinda.**

**Hope you guys enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it :D**

**(Credit for the cover image goes to an amazing Noctfelicite and it's absolutely gorgeous, go take a look at the full view if you can! :D)**

* * *

He watched Phantom mourn for Freud.

It had been like this for a while now. Phantom would wake, slip into a bathrobe, and leave the comfort of his room for another one just at the end of the corridor. It was bare, save a simple wooden desk, a stack of parchments and a journal beside a single owlfeather quill, a plain couch and a sturdy fireplace. Tilting a small crystal dragon on the mantlepiece would lift the entire structure, embers barely even stirring from the gentle movement of well-oiled machinery, and he would slip silently down the stairs. The path he took past the shelves was always the same, so well traversed that he didn't need anything more than the faint glowing of his cane to locate a display at the far end of the room.

He couldn't understand it.

The Master Thief had probably spent a good portion of his lifetime acquiring valuable artifacts of precious stone, the finest sculptures and paintings, and yet he would not acknowledge their presence with so much as a glance when he strode past them, nor admire them with the gaze he reserved for what waited for him behind the mantlepiece. He hated reading and complained when his colleagues in the island of Ereve had some documents for him, and yet had the bookshelves of that hidden room jammed mercilessly with titles upon titles of volumes and journals that didn't interest him in the least. He, like a magpie, loved ornate furniture glazed with gold and decorated with rare jewels that sparkled, yet the desk beside the mantle was of plain wood, neither varnished nor polished, and so looked awkward in the high ceilinged room that it was an eyesore. Besides, in this day and age, who still used a quill?

Most of all… Phantom took pride in his raven mask and cap, sifted through the soft white feathers to take out the tangles in them, brushed the indigo scarf to make sure it was free of lint, cleaned the golden details and gems so meticulously that it shone more brightly than any other jewel he owned. Phantom checked his cane every day for nicks and scratches, polished until no trace of them remained, made sure the incantations and the magic still worked as fine as on the day he forged it. Only then would Phantom lay it, beside his hat, onto a thick, navy, velvet cushion atop a stand in the middle of his room.

The plain headband, purple adorned with simple golden trimmings and marked with an odd wing on either side, clearly wasn't his. Neither was the golden staff, framed by two similar wings and engraved throughout with the same simple golden patterns. Only a single, turquoise gem was set at the head of the staff. Both the weapon and the headgear were scratched in too many places to count, so much so that even Phantom couldn't see his own reflection on their surface. In fact, the staff was cracked down its center, its turquoise gem cracked and now dulled, and the headgear looked as if it had been warped out of shape before someone — most likely Phantom himself — tried to bend it back into shape.

Every single day Phantom would rise, slip into a bathrobe, and before attending to any other matter for the day, he'd tilt the crystal dragon, descend the stairs, and pass by the books… to look at this broken, unusable set of equipment.

He always stared at the display with a lost, faraway gaze. Some days he would come in and just stand there, eyes glazed with the memories of a time long past, and they could have been deliciously sweet or painfully bitter. Some days he would storm in, stagger to a halt with fists and jaw tightened, and press his head against the glass, fighting to take deep, shaky breaths but fail to calm himself. Some days he would halt at the edge of the shelves and, finding it simply too difficult to walk up to the display, he would turn around and leave.

Today, like some other days, Phantom talked to it.

He found it slightly disquieting to listen to Phantom talk. It was the voice of a man who had been broken too many times to count, the voice of a man who finally met his long-lost friend for the first time in decades, and the voice of a man who had spent too long running away from fear — Phantom's voice was all this at once. His words were simple and devoid of any of the pride he usually displayed when speaking outside the room. It was a completely different Phantom who stood before the illuminated display. A vulnerable, tired Phantom, one he wagered nobody but the owner of the staff and headband had ever seen before.

'I dreamed of Aria today,' he laughed. 'It's been ages, you know? Ever since you came along.'

Phantom chuckled again. It took a while for him to realise that for some strange warped reason, the Master Thief was slightly sheepish. Why? There was nobody here but he and Phantom, and of course he wasn't about to answer. It wasn't like Phantom would — or _could_ hear him.

'Sometimes I wish… Oh, Freud. I've said this a million times to Aria and I'll say it a million times more to you —'

He knew the words…

'— I wish I'd died in your place.'

… he'd long lost count of how many times he'd heard the Master Thief utter them.

Phantom chuckled and clenched his fists. 'I really miss you, Freud. If you knew how much I've been drinking, you'd burn all my alcohol… good thing I have spares all around the ship.' He grinned, but his smile was bitter. 'Pity I have such good control, too.'

Control? Nonsense. Phantom would never know who stilled his hand every time, stopping him from tumbling off the cliff and plummeting to meet an alcohol-induced death.

The Master Thief leaned heavily on the glass. The Master Thief slouched like a defeated man, one long haunted by the regrets of his lifetime.

'After Aria died,' he began with a shaky whisper, 'I swore… I swore that I'd never love again. She was so beautiful, Freud. So very beautiful. And she loved me like nobody had loved me before. I never told you this, have I — I wish I had — Aria made me want to settle down, have kids, do the whole becoming-good thing. I wanted to become an _honest man_ for her.'

No, Phantom. You've told that to your Freud before, right here before these mementos.

'Then she died.' Phantom straightened, squared his shoulders. 'I was torn apart. And then you came along. You and your mysterious ways. I never knew what you were thinking. But I wish I knew. I wish you'd told me, even if I'll never understand your thoughts.'

The room stayed silent for a long while, and the owner of the staff and headband gave no sign that he had heard, or still had the capacity to listen. Yet Phantom went on talking, 'You made me want to try to love someone again.'

The thought was going to kill Phantom one day. Phantom knew it. So did he.

But Freud was dead.

No matter how much Phantom talked, to the air, to the spirit that he hoped could hear him, or to ease his troubled conscience, nothing would change that.

He knew of Freud and Phantom's time together. Phantom didn't apologise for stealing his potions or spellbooks, and instead often joked with the broken equipment about those times, as if they were the times that bound them together. Phantom found companionship in the patiently calm man that was Freud, because he was the only one who could brush away the thief's jibes and yet understand him for who he actually was.

And with the way Phantom spoke to the display and the broken equipment that it held, he was sorry that the two had to part ways. To Phantom, Freud was a man unlike any other, a man who had touched him dearly, maybe even more than the woman called Aria ever could. He almost wished that the two could have remained friends, that they could have provided each other with the respite they needed in an increasingly chaotic world.

Maybe Phantom would have found respite from his inner chaos, too.

Phantom stayed quiet for a long while. When he continued, his voice was hoarse, as if the words burned his gullet when they were spoken. 'I never got the chance to tell Aria I loved her. And now she's gone. She probably knew my feelings for her right from the beginning. But I was such a fool to think that time was mine to waste… I was such a fool. And now she'll never hear it from me. And I'll never know if she loved me the same.'

Phantom came back to the mantlepiece every morning to revisit broken memories, reopen old wounds. And even he knew that Freud wasn't there to help Phantom heal any longer.

'And then I fell in love with you. I was so scared, did you know that? Of course you didn't. I never told you. I was scared that you'd leave me. Scared that I'd fall in love and then lose you, like I did Aria. I swore… I swore that I'd tell you I loved you. I didn't want to make the same mistake again. Oh, Freud. Fate is so cruel.'

Fate was cruel indeed. In ways Phantom would never imagine.

Phantom gritted his teeth. 'I'd meant to tell you that day. I'd practiced so many times. In elaborate ways, simple ways, in front of mirrors, hell I practiced under my breath before I knocked on your door. The day this fool of a lover decided to finally try… the war… everything was a mess… you were ready to fly, and the words just didn't come.'

He knew about the war. It had taken Freud, but not his dragon, and nobody knew where his remains lay. There was no deaf ear for Phantom to whisper his goodbyes into, no still chest to clutch, no broken body to mourn over.

'Where are you, Freud? Why couldn't you wait for me to tell you I loved you before you left?' He hung his head and laughed. It was a quiet laugh. Bitter, sad. 'I'm such a fool. I'm a crook. A coward. I couldn't even protect you. Yet you loved me all the same. I'd _sworn —_' Phantom whirled around. 'I'd sworn that I'd tell you that I loved y —'

He suddenly realised that Phantom's eyes were locked on his, slight horror in his eyes.

Phantom could _see_ him?

:

* * *

:

A slender, thin and lithe frame. Rusty hair.

Phantom stepped forward. Was he dreaming? How… how…?

'Freud?'

A familiar face, wise beyond his years. Kind eyes. Ocean blue eyes.

The most beautiful eyes he would ever see in his life.

'Freud…' Phantom felt a million emotions overwhelm him at once — alarm, confusion, surprise, shock, joy, he couldn't even think — and he just stood there gaping. Freud was dead, his dragon gone, his weapons were _here_, just behind him, and Evan was proof of his passing, what was he doing here in the Lumiere, was it actually Freud?

'Phantom,' Freud said.

It was… it was?

Gods. He'd only ever _dreamed_ of that voice.

'It's you,' he breathed. 'It's really you.' He took a step forward. Something stifling and heavy lifted off his chest. How did Freud feel in his arms again? He missed the mage's presence, his smell, an aroma sweet like tea. 'You're alive.'

'How do you know my name?'

Phantom stopped and blinked. He felt the smile on his face falter slightly.

Freud's gaze was hard and stone cold, and his ocean blue eyes held no trace of recognition. 'How can you see me?'

'What are you talking about?' Phantom laughed, realising his voice was shaky. What was going on? Freud, _his_ Freud, couldn't recognise him? But they were so close, almost _lovers_… surely… 'Come on, Freud, it isn't funny.'

Freud… _the_ Freud folded his arms. There was a slight flicker of understanding in his calm eyes. 'Oh. I see how it is.'

How _what_ is? Phantom shook his head cluelessly. 'See what? Come on, Freud…'

'I'm not _that _Freud, and I'm not _your_ Freud. You're talking about Freud the Dragon Master, aren't you?'

Freud _the Dragon Master_? Of course it was Freud_ the Dragon Master_. There usually weren't many other Freuds around were there? Phantom felt his jaw tighten. So many days of regret and sorrow. And now that Freud was standing right in front of him, he had no recollection of their past together?

This was more painful than knowing Freud was dead. This was far worse… A Freud that treated him coldly, without any form of love, or friendship, and spoke to him like he was mad. A Freud that registered no emotion at all even after his tirade just now.

'Freud — '

'I'm sure I'm not him,' said Freud. 'But my name _is_ Freud.'

Phantom held up a hand. It trembled. Visibly. 'Stop. Just who are you?'

'Didn't you already know my name, Phantom?' smirked Freud.

'But you're not the Freud I know,' Phantom gritted out, and the words tasted like ash on his tongue. The taste of despair. That Freud was really and truly gone. And this wasn't the Freud he knew. Just some cruel replica.

'Not at all.' Freud gestured. 'I hear the Dragon Master died from his battle wounds three hundred years ago.'

Phantom noticed something odd. The movement of his fingers was somehow… like wisps of smoke were trailing off his skin, but it might've been the poor lighting and some remaining alcohol stirring his vision. It looked like there was a double of his hand, a faint ghostly silhouette that moved a split second too slow.

Freud noticed him staring and tilted his head curiously. The slight movement was so uncanny, far too uncanny. Phantom felt such a fierce pang in his chest, at the Freud that was so unbearably _Freud_ and yet wasn't _his_ Freud at all, that he was forced to avert his eyes.

It was something he'd almost forgotten. The curiosity in Freud's eyes and the way he chose to express it. A simple tilt of his head. He knew Freud did it, could see it in his mind's eye, but it wasn't the same seeing it _again_ after he thought he never ever would. Just another one of Freud's many habits that he'd sworn to remember.

He pushed away the memory of Freud, angling his head just slightly when Phantom was showing him another trinket he'd gotten the night before. Memories like these didn't belong to the Freud that was not Freud.

But the Freud that was not Freud… was too like Freud. It couldn't just be a coincidence. Could it?

'Just what are you doing here?' he whispered.

'I'm here to make sure you don't kill yourself before your time is up.'

'What I do with my life is no concern of yours.' Phantom looked up sharply. 'And even so how do you intend to…' the words trailed off as he finally saw them. Two opalescent wings, feathers and all, that looked so otherworldly and fragile that a gust of wind might dissipate them and take Freud as well. They shone with the same ethereal glow as his white robe, and almost looked like they were pulsing. Fading in and out of existence.

Freud smiled. His wings unfolded slightly behind him, and the darkness around him seemed to shimmer.

'What you do with your life is but every concern of mine.'

Phantom could only stare. The ache in his chest grew.

'You see… I'm your guardian angel.'


	2. The crystal dragon

'Did Phantom manage to convince you that you were the Freud he knew?'

Freud snorted. 'Of course not. I have no recollection of the man, or of his various scholarly exploits. And those I hear from my other wards.'

'But I swear Phantom has one of the most gilded tongues in all of the world,' his friend gasped and held up a slender hand to her mouth. 'Even _he_ didn't manage to persuade you?'

'It's hard to persuade someone that he has memories he doesn't remember. And I swear by the Archons, any more and I'll slap him so hard it'll send him back in time.'

She laughed. 'Thank Archons you're an angel then.'

'Thankfully for him.' Freud huffed. If he were human, the threat would be easy to follow through. He had gotten used to the idea that he would never have a significant influence on the human world. It used to nag at him, the thought that humans would always be able to carelessly move and interact with things around them, while angels had to scheme, exercise absurd extents of concentration before they could even so much as tweak an aspect of the human world. Angels were but shadows, possessing no physical form nor presence, and wouldn't be able to touch anything at all in the human realm, let alone their wards.

'So you're sure you have no connection to the thief?' His friend chuckled and sat him down on the steps, peering at him over the steeple she'd made of her fingers.

'Thankfully,' repeated Freud. He leaned sideways briefly to make way for a passing angel. 'I want nothing to do with him anyway.'

'Remind me again what you're doing here, hmm? You're supposed to be on guard duty.' She frowned at him and for a split second he felt a vestige of guilt, as if he were wronging her by doing a crime to a grand empress.

'Phantom exasperates me,' said Freud simply in reply. 'And Aether is where I can go, but Phantom cannot follow. He's been bugging me like a starved puppy all day.'

She hummed, a light melody of a sound, and tucked a lock of long, golden hair behind her ear daintily. 'But you know, any man worth his salt will soon figure out how to summon you —'

Freud sighed. He felt it, a searing, jarring thought that occupied his mind and pushed out all the rest. 'And the Master Thief faster than most. Excuse me.'

He focused. The white streets of Aether, the stairs, the tall pillars of white marble, the blonde who laughed at the nonplussed expression he must've worn, the towering buildings of cloud and crystal, all faded before his eyes. The air shifted, and he knew he looked like a man disintegrating into thin air, leaving a faint trace of white dust where he sat. And he was back in a dim, excessively furnished room.

Again.

'Didn't they tell you not to play with knives?' Freud hissed, concentrating so a blast of magic snapped the blade from Phantom's fingers. It dropped dully to the carpeted floor.

'Of course,' Phantom grinned. 'And besides, I have perfect control.'

'You know I'm only summoned if the force you used had the potential to pierce your skin and bleed you dry,' growled Freud. He focused and the knife flew to his hand, levitating above his palm. If he moved his fingers, they'd pass through the metal like smoke. It was a curse as much as a blessing, the inability to touch items on earth. 'If I didn't come you'd be dead by now —'

'But it isn't my time yet, dear angel,' purred Phantom. 'Thus, your duty as angel will summon you here.'

'I should've let the knife nick you first. Maybe then you'd learn your lesson.' Freud moved the knife to the table, a familiar unease at the front of his throat, the spot where the knife was supposed to pierce. The thought of the glinting blade embedded in Phantom's neck unnerved him. As it did any of his other wards, when they tried to commit suicide.

Phantom laughed. All trace of his shock and horror from first seeing Freud had vanished, and in its place was a carefully designed and manipulated mask. Freud didn't know how Phantom was feeling now, but there were already enough clues from before. Did it really hurt the Master Thief to look at Freud?

Phantom ambled over to the bed and perched on it, his white uniform stark against black velvet sheets. 'Now, now, angel. Didn't you they teach you manners in heaven? Surely a representative of the holy kind should have a softer tongue.'

Freud raised an eyebrow. His time in the human world taught him enough about hints and reading between the lines. The Master Thief's words were definitely an innuendo, trying to hint that they'd kissed before. While it could also mean that Phantom found his replies too cutting, he didn't appreciate the play on words. 'I know what you're trying to do, Phantom. Stop.'

'Once upon a time, a certain Freud would have set my hair ablaze,' Phantom clutched a hand to his golden locks dramatically. 'And I'll have you know I don't intend to die bald or in singed clothes.'

'I have no time for your tomfoolery, Phantom.' Freud ruffled his wings, annoyed. Silver dust floated down around him and melted away. 'Please don't kill yourself —'

'What angelic business do you have to attend to in heaven, hmm? Why don't you spend a sliver of your timeless existence with the handsome man you're supposed to protect?'

He glanced at Phantom, meeting the deep amethyst eyes calmly. 'My timeless existence? How do you know I don't just fade out of existence after a certain number of years?'

Phantom chuckled. 'You never did give me enough credit —'

'Let me remind you again that I am not the Freud you know.'

'Because you've been around for about three hundred human years,' said Phantom, his smile growing wider. 'And I am not the first one you had to protect.'

He felt his brow twitch just slightly at the accuracy of Phantom's statements and chided himself for letting slip his thoughts.

'I'm right, aren't I?'

'How'd you know?'

'I guessed,' grinned Phantom.

Freud glared at him. He marvelled at the impossibility of the task. Any given number of years might have passed, and yet Phantom managed to guess it was three hundred… no. It wasn't an act of sheer luck. In fact, Freud recognised the glint in his eyes. It was a look of someone hunting, searching for something very precious. Perhaps in Phantom's case, a connection to Freud's past. That's why he'd guessed that Freud had been doing this for three centuries — reassurance that he was the Dragon Master.

Yet for all the similarity of their lives, that was impossible. Angels didn't have pasts, or futures. They just were.

'What does it prove? That I'm the Freud you know, miraculously given another life in Aether?' Freud snorted and turned away, striding towards the mantle. He eyed the crystal dragon and its outstretched, glittering wings.

Phantom saw his movement and stood up. Freud ignored him and continued, going up to the mantle and inspecting the sculpture, admiring the contours of its scales and ridges.

'So that's what it's called. Aether,' Phantom mused. He said the word like someone saying it for the first time, trying to understand its shape and meaning on his tongue. 'So does heaven even exist?'

'Heaven, like the history that you're assuming I've lived, exists not.'

'Every consciousness tells a story,' Phantom chuckled. 'Maybe you just don't remember yours.'

Freud scoffed and didn't grant him a reply.

'So it's just Aether up there?' Phantom murmured curiously, coming up beside him at the mantle.

Freud chuckled inwardly. 'Aether is nowhere. Up and down are human constructs. We guardian angels exist on a different dimension.'

'I feel horribly betrayed by the notions of heaven.'

'As you should be.' He felt the Master Thief's gaze on him, he could feel it on the nape of his neck and the feathers at the base of his wing where it touched the skin. Despite the direction that the conversation was taking, Freud noticed something else.

'Does this mean I'm not going to hell even if I steal the rest of the world's gems —'

'Even if hell did exist, why would you want to steal them all? You're already rich enough.'

For all their banter, Phantom unknowingly was holding a different strain of conversation: that of body language. Initially he had lounged against the bed, without a care in the world, and watched Freud with a mildly uninterested gaze. Now he was standing, hovering over his shoulder, and Freud could feel slight waves of anxiety coming off him. And all for what? — a crystal dragon. Phantom was afraid he'd break the fragile sculpture curling on his mantle. How would Phantom react? Would he flare up, shout, threaten him? It was precious to him, but exactly why so still was yet to be determined.

'I have to live up to my name, don't I?'

'You have a spectacular sculpture here already.' Freud leaned in and held up a finger, noting Phantom's almost palpable worry as he held it an inch away from the crystal. He smiled and concentrated, and brought over just a fraction of Aether's light, and watched eagerly as the dragon seemed to light up, filled with an otherworldly magic. It glowed, the embodiment of liquid sunfire.

'It's priceless,' Phantom said dumbly, when Freud had pulled his finger away and the light had faded. Freud knew that Phantom saw his world a shade darker now. The brilliance of Aether was never meant for human eyes.

'It'd fetch a hefty price. I've guarded a few wards who have an eye for things that sparkle, and who also coincidentally have a loose grip on their gold. I know what catches their fancy.' Freud tapped the mantle, careful to halt his fingers just on the surface of the tabletop. He made sure Phantom saw his hands leave faint silvery imprints just for a few seconds before they faded away. He didn't actually touch the wooden mantle, though it would seem the opposite to a human like Phantom.

'It's priceless,' Phantom repeated. 'I'm not going to sell this.' His voice came out hoarse as Freud's hand shifted closer and closer to the dragon. He noticed a small twitch in the thief's jaw.

Freud turned to glance at Phantom out of the corner of his eye. A blind stab in the dark was good a stab as any. 'The Dragon Master made this, didn't he?'

Phantom's gaze hardened, but didn't stop following his movements like a hawk. 'Don't touch it. You might break it.'

This intrigued Freud. The nonchalant Phantom who once couldn't have cared less was now on his feet and worrying after a simple, crystal dragon. He was hostile, even. The crystal dragon had definitely been made by the Dragon Master, for there was no other reason why Phantom would be this riled up over an art installation the size of his hand. This crystal dragon was perhaps an act of generosity, or a hint of love, or maybe just a gift from a dear friend. It was the only thing left reminding Phantom of the Dragon Master's sentiments to him.

Freud chuckled. His fingers moved closer, closer, closer to the crystal dragon, and Phantom tensed with the shrinking distance. His hand would pass through the crystal dragon but Phantom didn't know that. 'I won't. I have perfect control.'

'Angel.'

'It's Freud to you,' smirked Freud.

His fingers hovered momentarily above the dragon before he lowered them to stroke the cool, ridged surface of the dragon's scales.

But he never managed to touch it. He didn't expect Phantom to move so quickly. One moment he was standing a few feet away, and the next moment he had seemed to melt into the darkness and reappear beside him. His amethyst eyes were narrowed and simmering with ire, and his hand…

Phantom's hand was around his wrist.

Freud stiffened and wrenched his hand away.

'Don't touch it,' Phantom growled again.

He could only stare back in horror and shock, speechless. His throat tightened and he fought to maintain composure. His wrist ached. Phantom's grip had been strong, vice-like. And his touch seared like fire.

'You may be my guardian angel,' Phantom was gritting through his teeth, 'but you will show my things respect. Especially things that I hold exceptionally dear to me, like the things on my mantlepiece —'

Phantom stopped talking abruptly. Freud realised his wings were outstretched, and he was clutching his wrist like it was injured, close to his chest. With a shaky breath he schooled his expression, folded his wings. How much of his thoughts had he given away already?

Silvery dust floated in the air. Phantom's expression was unreadable.

'If you kill yourself now, I'm going to let you die,' he said evenly. Phantom didn't even so much as blink as the air shimmered around him and he stepped back into Aether.

He materialised with a stumble and a shiver of his wings on the sidewalk. The sandy haired angel was there waiting for him and she stood up, alarm written all over her face.

'Freud.' Her hand on his shoulder felt cool, soothing like a breeze, her grip firm and reassuring. 'What's wrong?'

_Phantom's touch felt like fire._

He wanted to say that. He opened his mouth to say _'he touched me' _but he reined himself back just as the breath left his throat.

'Phantom was trying to get me to hold the broken weapon and wear the dented headband,' he forced a smile. 'Can you believe that? Treating me like a mannequin.'

The eyebrow raised in response told him that she didn't believe him in the least. 'He's absurd,' she hummed and played along. 'Did he try to get you to remove your robe too?'

She was giving him a reason for the harried expression he was sure he had.

'Yes, how'd you guess?'

'Not hard to.'

Freud chuckled. 'True. It's the Master Thief.'

'He's used to getting his way,' she tutted. 'Strange. It's as if he didn't already know that angels can't physically touch things in his world.'

'Exactly,' he laughed weakly. 'Exactly.'

'He forgets that not everyone can pinch jewels from his world. You know, I heard he had a thing for announcing plans for the next exploit before he actually did them…'

She continued talking as she smoothed out the ruffled feathers of his wings, and before he knew it she had teleported them in front of his quarters.

'… so you have to remember that Phantom's ego always gets in the way.' She laughed and patted him on the shoulder. 'Go take some rest… you look like you could do some quiet time away from a stifling ego such as his.'

'Thanks for the words of advice,' Freud nodded stiffly, but it wasn't anything he didn't already know from his many days of watching Phantom pour his heart out.

Alone and back in his quarters, he sank into the couch and clutched his wrist to his chest. The spacious rooms and familiar walls, the holy inscriptions, and the shimmering colours didn't give him comfort like they usually did, and for once he felt small. He felt trapped, like Phantom's hand was still wrapped cruelly around his.

His head pounded. The effort from swatting the knife from Phantom's hands took out so much from him already.

Freud was used to the migraines. Angels paid a price for changing things in the human realm, and though it was a small price to pay for their services, it bought a huge change when it came to shaping human history. In the grand storyline that archangel Fate had crafted, each human had a small but important part to play as determined by archangel Destiny. And that was where the angels came in.

They were expected to keep their wards alive until their wards had fulfilled their purpose. Freud had swiped weapons from hands, shielded his ward from flying arrows, deflected bullets, extinguished fires… and once he even needed to swerve a twelve-wheeler throttling at full speed just out of the way of his ward. It had taken so much mental effort that they needed another angel to stand in his place while he recuperated in his quarters.

Regardless of the circumstance, no matter how dire or how much more direct it'd be, angels couldn't touch a hair on their wards.

But the ache in his wrist confirmed it: for the first time in three hundred years, a human had touched him, and he had felt it.

So this was what it meant to be touched. It was his first human sensation. Freud gripped his wrist tighter, felt the tightness in his hand, but still the burning feeling on his skin remained. Nothing compared to the touch of a human hand.

He sat there for a timeless time that felt far too long, mulling over the event that had happened for the first time in his three hundred years of existence.

What he wouldn't give for another brush of human skin…

He closed his eyes, letting the warmth of Phantom's hand dissipate across his body. It wasn't the warmth of sunlight, or the warmth of the magic crystal orb he had in his room that healed him. He didn't know what it was. But it felt like the touch completed him somehow.

For Phantom to be able to touch him… That was something new. It intrigued him. As did the Master Thief's words.

_Every consciousness tells a story_, he'd said. Was it a wild guess, or did the Master Thief say it out of desperation to spark some old memory inside him? Did he actually believe it?

As an angel… he'd seen the lives of his human wards and it was true. They all had memories, a past, a future. A beginning and an ending. Were angels truly that different? Where was his final ending. Where was his beginning? What was his purpose?

Freud allowed himself a small smile. He had gone through three hundred years of mulling over these same questions, only to remain clueless. Yet it now, and only now, did the Master Thief's words pierce his blind contentment.

To be honest, Phantom's dogged determination intrigued him. Phantom had an eye for nothing but the best jewels, maybe his eye wasn't failing him now. Perhaps there was something more… a greater story than _this_. No, Phantom couldn't possibly have the foggiest idea what would happen in the future. Not if he thought Aether was _up_.

He'd never had a reason to look for answers to his questions, or to want them anyway. If there was a need for those answers, something would point him in the right direction.

And after three hundred years, Phantom was the sign he had been waiting for, even if he didn't know he'd been waiting for one.

:

* * *

:

Phantom felt his anger dissipate as quickly as the angel faded out of existence. He exhaled. For some reason, the angel looked… shaken. It wasn't a look he'd ever seen before. Freud had always been so calm. As if everything was something he'd planned for way in advance. Stolen potions, missing journals, or even a missing desk wasn't enough to make him react in any satisfactory way. Phantom had tried it all. Hell, if he gave Freud a present, it was likely he'd guess what was in it before he even saw the box.

But he didn't know whether it was a good thing that he saw the angel's horror. He could picture it too easily now, written all over his face in those final moments of the battle when he realised he was going to die. The Freud that Phantom knew — no, the Freud that Phantom _wished_ he was — would meet death with utter peace in his eyes. Not with the panicky expression now embedded in Phantom's mind.

That angel was bad news. He was already half insane as it was, he didn't need an overreacting, feathery minion from heaven to make things worse. If he could, he would use all the gold he owned to buy a different guardian angel. But who? … what about Aria? …

What was he thinking? Phantom shook himself and hurried to the washroom, splashing icy water on his face. He looked up. The blond in the mirror stared back with shame in his heavy-lidded eyes before averting his gaze. Freud and Aria weren't things he could simply _buy_. He was an idiot.

He deserved a punch for these foolish thoughts. He clenched his fist. It felt good. But a black eye would mar his countenance, and not to mention be completely unexplainable. Nevermind. One day he'd ask that angel Freud to punch him in the face. For now he'd take a drink. A good long drink.

He slouched out of the bathroom and crossed the wide room to the alcohol cabinet. With a wave of his fingers he had it unlocked and soon was uncorking a bottle of Château d'Yquem, pouring a delicate amount into a wide wineglass. The rich aroma calmed his nerves and he closed his eyes to breathe it in, letting himself have the guilty pleasure of a smile. He had gone to great lengths to obtain this elixir, requiring months of planning and a hole in his best (and _favorite_!) silken cape. He re-corked the bottle and stowed it carefully back, locking it to keep nosy young dragon masters out, and raised his glass to the crystal dragon curled on the mantle beside the cabinet.

'To your peaceful rest and my sanity,' he smiled at the sculpture of the onyx dragon and winked.

Gaston would nag his head off if he saw him indulging this early in the morning. It was already eight, and it wasn't that he'd had a particularly uneventful dawn, so he was excused from the norms of drinking. And the old geezer was probably going to rattle on about him not making his bed, so he crossed the room again and perched on the edge of the soft mattress, just in case.

The aroma of the golden elixir — honey, a citrusy acidity, and apricots — were almost successful in lulling him into a numb blissfulness when there was a knock on the door.

'I'm still in bed, Marianne,' he called out, determined not to let anything ruin his mood. The fragrance of the wine was intoxicating and he was even more determined to enjoy it. What was Marianne doing up so early anyway? 'Come back when —'

Again whoever was outside knocked. Marianne would have answered by now, so it had to be… 'Whatever important news you have, Christine, it can wait.'

Silence for a while. Good. Now to deal with the rich liquor in his glass —

That infernal knocking needed to stop. 'Gaston, please give a master thief some rest,' he gasped in exasperation, feeling something throb on his forehead. A blood vessel? He rubbed at the spot. Hopefully it wouldn't stay long. 'If you're asking about breakfast, I'll have what I usually have and all the devilled eggs you're willing to give me.'

The door swung open. 'I-It's me, Mister Phantom —'

'By Transcendents you nitwit, didn't you learn to knock!' yelled Phantom, frantically pulling his robe tighter around him (and completely forgetting that Evan _had_ been knocking all the while). He closed his legs as an afterthought. 'Don't you have better things to do this early in the morning?'

'S-Sorry!' yelled the senseless young twit standing in the doorway and covering his eyes.

_Evan_. He didn't need another Dragon Master pestering him right now. First the regrets towards the original one, then the appearance of the memoryless one, and now this incompetent, bumbling excuse for one.

Phantom growled and set the glass down carefully beside him, adjusting the folds of his bathrobe. Thank heavens he was a thief, no way could anyone else react as fast as him. Why didn't he even hear the doorknob turn? Maybe he needed some honing. 'Just tell me what you're here for and scram.'

'I'm r-really sorry, I didn't know you slept n —'

'You don't need to point it out —' Phantom snarled, feeling slight heat in his ears as he sprung up. The boy squeaked and quailed, and the mattress shifted and something shattered on the ground nearby.

Deep breaths. Deep, deep breaths. Eyes closed. Breathe in. Breathe out. Great, the twitching on his forehead was getting worse.

Phantom opened his eyes when he was sure that he wouldn't lose another screw. He was _this_ close. Then he looked at Evan properly and lost it.

'Evan! Why are you covered in mud and setting foot on my ship while you are wet enough to cause a flood?' He roared. The blue lizard behind the boy whined and cowered behind his master. 'I didn't take you in to have you being such a slob around such fine carpeting!'

Evan gestured in panic. Phantom could have howled as he watched more water slosh onto the carpet. 'It's Afrien! Mir and I saw him —'

'My mistake! Pretend I didn't ask! Go back to your room, get yourself cleaned up, and _then_ tell me what in blazes happened.'

Evan squeaked and saluted sloppily before fleeing down the hallways, leaving a trail of black footprints in his wake. And Mir, for some godforsaken reason, was running along beside him and printing filthy claw marks on his fine carpet _instead of using his wings for flying like they were meant to be used_.

'And remember to knock!' Phantom ran to the door and shouted after him just as he rounded the corner and vanished out of sight. He looked down and groaned. Mud was difficult to get out of wool. And he'd just gotten the entire ship redone, too. Nothing would completely remove those horrid brown stains. And the remaining imprint would still be obvious against the rich red velvet.

He shut the door and locked it. Checked it a second time, just in case. Then he stormed past the shattered glass sitting in the sopping carpet, unlocked his liquor cabinet, and poured himself another glass of wine. He put the bottle back. Then he changed his mind, filled the first cup to the brim and poured another half glass.

'Dragon Masters, always on my nerves today,' he chucked the bottle back and lifted the glass to sip at the elixir, the rounded shape of the glass comforting in his hand. The dense aroma smoothed his frazzled nerves. Honey, apricot (_don't think about the carpet_), maybe vanilla, and he was sure it had just a hint of orange rind (_don't think about his favorite crystal wineglass shattered_). He could almost taste it, feel the way it lifted off his tongue, flowed down his throat like liquid gold.

'That young one is a nuisance, isn't he,' said a voice so suddenly in his ear that he jumped. He cracked the glass against the mantle, sending shards and wine everywhere.

'Hello, Freud,' he gritted out after a few moments, setting the remainder of the glass on the alcohol cabinet.

The angel flitted over to the bed and perched on the edge, leaving silvery dust on the covers. Phantom scowled at the smug look on his face.

'Drinking so early in the morning can't be good for you,' grinned Freud.

'If you've been paying attention, you'll notice that I haven't indulged a single drop.' Phantom flicked the wine off his hand and tried swiping at his robe to dry it. To hell with his carpet. Wasn't like he couldn't afford to redo the whole ship anyway.

Two glasses of fine wine. Wasted. On the carpet that he was going to rid of. He could hear wine connoisseurs around the world wailing and wringing their hands in sorrow.

'I was too intrigued with the fine young lad to notice,' chuckled Freud.

In fact he might as well ditch finesse and just drink from the bottle instead. It'd cause less trouble as it was.

'Fine is an understatement. He's _fantastic_,' Phantom drawled. He rolled his eyes and collected a clean robe hanging on the rack, and was about to change before he realised he forgot to close the wardrobe door behind him.

'I've seen you change many times already,' Freud hummed nonchalantly. Phantom felt the hotness behind his ears again as the angel turned away from him. 'But I won't look if it makes you feel better.'

'Not like it makes a difference _now_, does it?' snapped Phantom, but he still slipped into his clean robe as quickly as he could in case the angel turned around.

For a brief moment he wondered if his Freud had ever seen him naked.

Nah. He never had.

But would he like what he saw? —

'So,' said Phantom easily. 'What brings you back to my once-fine, now wine-stained abode?'

'Nothing,' Freud turned around. Nice of him to assume I was done, thought Phantom. 'I just needed to know that your bothersome self was still alive.'

'I'll have you know even Ereve's finest scholar appreciated my company.'

'I think Ereve's finest scholar would appreciate a successor more. Evan, was it? What's he doing on your ship?' asked Freud smoothly, changing the topic and deflecting Phantom's ego, as easily as if he had been predicting the comeback all along. Phantom was surprised. It was the same wit that the finest scholar himself was too humble to boast about.

'Out of the kindness of my heart, I've taken him in,' Phantom smiled.

Freud raised an eyebrow. 'Nobody else is willing to take care of him, are they.'

'Not even the other heroes want him,' whined Phantom. He rolled his eyes and did a fine impersonation of Mercedes. Squeaky voice and tilted wrist. '_You were the Freud's best friend_.' Aran: deep voice, arms akimbo. '_You know what a Dragon Master does, don't you? Barging into his house all day?_' Luminous: snooty, one eye closed, one finger in the air. '_Besides, we are all too occupied with work to care for a clueless boy._'

Freud clapped. 'You should be an actor.'

'_Thank you,_' gasped Phantom, bowing. 'None of the other heroes appreciate that.'

'They don't seem to appreciate your putting up with Evan's tomfoolery either.'

That they did not. At first he had been eager to school the young dragon master. Never mind that he had made some mistakes about the seal stones, or helped Hiver of the Black Wings wreck havoc on the towns. Phantom could steal the stones back easily. And he could spare a little — alright, he could spare a _lot_, he really didn't know what to do with his gold — to pay for repatriation, and a little more besides.

Then they got to know Evan better. And then Phantom regretted everything. Evan was so dense that he was better off being a rock. He was slow. Easily distracted. Forgetful. Mir was weak. It took seven attempts before they burned up a young oak (while Phantom remembered how Afrien had knocked over a fully grown pine tree because he forgot to flap his wings softly for landing). They were naive. Once Phantom had managed to get Mir to take a bite out of a raw onion and Evan to lick his own shoulder and they believed that doing so would make them stronger.

Alright. It was mean.

But the duty had remained Phantom's alone. And so here he was. Trying to be a calm and suave Master Thief. Trying to at least get some fun out of the situation. Phantom sighed.

'He's quite hopeless.'

The angel didn't know how hopeless he was. Neither would Freud. In fact, he doubted Freud would have dreamed that a boy like Evan would be the one to succeed him.

It was unsettling to Phantom, the way Evan believed half of the most outrageous lies while the person whose shadow he walked in never took anything as true without carefully analysing it first. The present Dragon Master fell asleep at even the simplest books once Phantom's back was turned, while the past Dragon Master could somehow make a book materialise out of thin air if Phantom wasn't watching.

And Freud always wiped his feet before stepping into his precious priceless Lumiere.

In fact, now that a certain Freud-like angel had suddenly joined him, the distinction had grown even more stark. Evan, who at first might have seemed like a smaller version of Freud, could never pass off as for that. Phantom hated it, the way Evan was ruining Freud's reputation as Dragon Master. All those years of genius, charity, and kindness, gone down the drain just like that.

'I'm sure he doesn't barge into your room dripping wet every morning,' laughed Freud. 'Give the boy some credit. I've seen "hopeless" wards grow into something great given enough time.'

'Funny how you should be saying it,' muttered Phantom sourly.

'I implore you, Phantom, enough subtle references to the Dragon Master.' Freud stretched, wings spreading fully open. The tips of the feathers seemed to fade into nothing. Phantom marveled at their length. 'And I would think Evan had something important to say.'

Phantom stalked over to the bathroom, washing the sticky remnants of wine from his arms. 'Everything's important to Evan. Kid can't tell the difference between amethyst and ruby even if I labelled them for him.'

'Are you going to make him see your _jewels_ for nothing, then?' mused Freud. 'Wasn't it about his predecessor?'

'It was about his predecessor's _dragon_…'

_Oh. _

_Afrien. _

_Afrien knew Freud. _

_Afrien knew Freud better than anyone. _

'… and you're right, it is _pretty_ important.' Phantom allowed himself a smile. 'We should go talk to him.'

'_You're_ going to talk to him. I'm not going to say a word.' Freud dusted off his wings as Phantom slipped back into his wardrobe. Freud might have been watching but he pretended not to know, or perhaps not to care, as he changed into another suit.

'Of course,' beamed Phantom. Things were looking up. _Thank you, Evan… for once you're the answer to a problem instead of the problem itself._ 'I'm going to hear his entire story and find out where Afrien is.'

Freud rolled his eyes. 'You're going to use Afrien to try to get me to remember my past, aren't you.'

'Am I that predictable?'

'Far too predictable.' Freud lounged back on the bed. Good thing the "fairy dust" coming off his wings faded with time. Phantom wasn't going to let any other fabric item he owned get ruined by another Dragon Master. 'I'm not going.'

Phantom hummed, striding over to his raven cap. He winked at his own reflection before whisking it up and planting it on his head.

'But I know how to make you.'

'Don't you dare,' hissed Freud.

'That's right.' Phantom opened the door and beckoned. 'I'll stab myself with an icicle if i needed to. There are many ways to commit suicide.'

'What's this about a suicide, Master Phantom?'

An old voice. An old, reedy voice. An old, reedy voice, carrying the stuck up demeanor that only snooty butlers who had too much guts could pull off. One who nagged him half to death and scorned him the other half.

'Gaston,' he smiled tightly.

Everyone was on his nerves today. Why was it so difficult to have a just a _bit_ of wine so he'd be prepared to deal with all _this_?

'I hope you've gotten your matters in order, Master Phantom, about who you're going to will your ship and riches to. If not, I have a few recommendations —'

'Unfortunately, I have no plans of killing myself in the future, dear Gaston. And you will be seeing even less of my vast hoard of riches if you provoke me to cut your paycheck.'

The angel coughed behind him. 'No suicide?'

'I wasn't talking to you,' hissed Phantom.

The angel smiled and pointed at Gaston, who couldn't hear or see him at all. Phantom could've smacked himself. And smacked the angel. Five times. On each cheek.

Gaston raised an eyebrow. 'Excuse me, Master Phantom? Are you hallucinating again? Too much alcohol early in the morning I see.'

Phantom glanced over his shoulder, through the ajar door and at the smashed glasses. 'Contrary to popular belief, my throat is actually dry. Not a single drop of liquid gold has graced it this morning.'

'I can smell said liquid gold from out here, Master Phantom. And it would seem that an elephant has rampaged through your bed again —'

'Which is why I hired you,' Phantom waved a hand dismissively. He strode down the hallway, feeling extraordinarily annoyed, which was actually normal in conversations with his head butler. 'Please do something about this mud. And find someone to redo the carpets if the stain won't go.'

'Do you want to redo the carpets in your room, sir? I personally think the slight bleaching from the wine adds character.'

The throbbing in his forehead again. He was so close to simply popping a blood vessel, it was almost scary. Phantom whirled around, growling. 'I said _all_ the carpets, Gaston, so if you would… get on with… it…'

Freud was taking his time floating down the corridor. And he had just passed right through Gaston, as if Gaston were the spectre who was never there at all. His words were lost as Freud floated up to him, feet clear of the muddied carpet, and regarded him questioningly. For the first time since he had seen Freud, Phantom realised that he was almost _translucent_, if such a word could be used at all, and he could see the faint impression of Gaston through Freud's form.

'Master Phantom? Did you fall into another of your drunken stupors again? I'm quite sure you didn't order for a replacement of _all_ the carpets earlier, just those stained with mud.'

Phantom couldn't answer.

'Phantom?' Freud tilted his head. 'What's wrong?'

He turned, unable to meet the curious gaze any longer, and stalked down the hallway, leaving the butler muttering about bad manners and stealing.

His mind reeled.

'Don't sulk, Phantom.' Freud caught up to him, leaned back in midair just like he was reclining. The fact that he was moving didn't seem to affect his feathers at all. 'What's wrong?'

'You can fly,' said Phantom.

'Which is what the wings are for,' noted Freud patiently.

'And pass through people.' Phantom glanced up at him, hoping to read any emotion that the angel let slip.

'Yes. It's what we do. Angels can't touch anything in this world. Anything I move, I move with magic.'

'I see,' said Phantom. 'And just to be clear. You've never touched another… person?'

Freud hesitated. 'No.'

'I see.'

Neither of them said any more.

* * *

**A/N -**

**Chapter 2. Finally. I don't know how Phantom doesn't blow his top just talking to Gaston, heh.**

**Thought a change of mood was needed. **

**But Kids, drinking is bad for you, and the smell of wine can make you choke. ****Don't try unless you know what you're doing. Preferably, have a spare liver just in case yours breaks.**

**Halfway through Chapter 3 now. (Welp hope u all lieks et been pleazur writin et)**


	3. Snow

Phantom was hard at work trying to understand why Evan found it so hard to wipe his feet before stepping into the Lumiere, when he realised that the air was stiller and the angel was nowhere to be seen.

It was a bother, really. That angel had about as much presence as a shadow. Didn't even know when he'd come or go. And even Phantom's acute senses, honed through so many nights of heists and missions, weren't able to detect him. He halted in the corridor, looking around and wondering whether he should wait for Freud before he heard his voice from another room.

'Phantom, could you come here a moment?'

He rolled his eyes and walked over in the direction of the voice, wondering what had caught his attention. Hadn't the angel already seen everything on his Lumiere? He could pass through people and probably walls as well, and teleport wherever he wanted to go, couldn't he? What a waste… Every single one of the artifacts he owned was priceless and Freud hadn't even bothered to admire them… what was the point then? Phantom chuckled. Ah, well… maybe the tastes of angels were different.

Finally he saw the ghostly silhouette of the angel, wings outspread and holding him in midair as he stared enraptured at a painting on the wall.

Phantom knew which painting he was looking at before he even stepped into view. It was fitted in an ornately carved wooden frame that was coated with a layer of pure gold. Three coatings, to be exact. Phantom checked the frame himself every now and then for flaking and repaired it with gold from his own stash.

And the painting… it was an amazing painting. The subject of the artwork, however, was simple — it was of a single man at his desk. Parchment covered the entire surface, crisp and white. Arranged in deft, perfectly aligned paragraphs were words upon words upon words… Phantom admired the gently slanting, precisely looping style rather than its content. It had been copied it stroke for stroke from a leftover parchment and damn, the shape of every single letter was absolutely identical.

The man had one hand around his quill, angled as if he was setting it down, and his other palm was pressed against his desk in the midst of getting up. There was a quiet little half-smile on his face, his eyes fixed on something faraway with soft affection that was captured perfectly in hints of summer sky and darker hues of ocean waves. As though he was pleasantly surprised.

Mercedes had painted it a long time ago… She had only given it to him recently, after the Black Mage's curse had lifted. Who'd guess that the haughty elven queen could paint? And paint so well, too. Phantom saw the modern cameras of the day and learned to appreciate the painting even more, it had so perfectly captured the movement, expression and likeliness of the man in the frame that it looked just as good as a photograph.

'Who is that?' Freud asked, pointing to the painting, once Phantom had appeared around the door.

'Hello,' he said pointedly by way of greeting, coming up to Freud with his hands in his pockets. 'Nice of you to vanish so suddenly. Sick of my glorious presence, are you?'

It was funny hearing the angel mutter dangerously under his breath about time travel. Then Freud growled. 'Enough of that. I'd rather stare at this painting all day than guard you.'

'Your words sting, Freud,' smiled Phantom. They really did. 'And is that a bit of narcissism I detect coming from you, dear angel?'

Freud rolled his eyes. 'So a mere fascination with this painting makes me the man in the painting?'

Phantom chuckled. 'You wouldn't believe me even if I was honest. And I _am_ being honest now, even if I used to be a thief.'

'You know I don't like being compared to that Freud,' grumbled the angel, eyes still locked on the painting.

'Your words sting.'

'As you already mentioned aforehand.'

'Mhmm.' Phantom went right up to the painting, moving his eyes down the frame, checking the usual spots at the corners for peeling flecks of gold.

_Don't look at the painting. Don't look at the painting. Don't look —_

To heck with it. He let himself indulge in a moment of weakness (not that he hadn't been indulging excessively ever since the angel appeared) and allowed himself a smile. Somehow the sight didn't pain him like it always did. He felt warm inside, the vestiges of a fond memory a-knocking on his heartstrings rather than the bitter aftertaste of regret.

'He looks like he could do with more sleep,' murmured the angel.

Phantom's ears pricked. This might be the first and the last time he would ever hear Freud describing himself from a third person's point of view.

(If it was Freud. But he'd indulge himself this time. Again.)

'And…?' he gently pressed for more.

'He seems like he always studied a bit too hard, but always had time for someone who needed it. And he… he…'

Phantom chuckled when the angel paused to look for words. 'And?'

'I'm thinking,' murmured Freud.

Phantom held up a finger. 'Freud didn't ever need that long to think.'

'Neither was he an angel.'

The angel turned and floated towards the corridor without waiting for another word and Phantom huffed at him. Fine… maybe it was his fault that he ruined the moment but how could he resist? It was far too easy poking jibes at the angel, and far too amusing to watch. He really couldn't rein himself in and when he could it took far too much deliberation and expenditure of willpower anyway. It just wasn't worth the effort.

Phantom slunk out to the corridor, finding the angel waiting for him. Freud's eyes were forlorn, as if he had many questions to ask but didn't want to find the answers. He waved Freud over and struck a quick pace down the corridor, leaving the room and the painting behind.

'It's just at the end of the corridor. Hope Evan's clean by now…'

They passed by sculptures and a vase made of solid gold. In the curved polished surface, he saw the crisp reflection of a man in white uniform, lean and dashing with deep and thoughtful purple eyes, wearing an ornately decorated and fine raven cap.

'You look decent enough already,' murmured Freud, sighing as he floated ahead of Phantom, trailing temporal dust behind him.

Phantom flicked his fringe and swatted away some stray locks. His clone tilted his hat in greeting. Fine young man, this thief, he thought with a smirk. 'Decent is something I'm not. Both morally and aesthetically. You should really come here and settle your hair, you know.'

'Angels are beyond human appearances.'

With a few long strides, Phantom caught up to the angel and shot him a contemplative look. 'I remember reminding Freud to fix his hair often, too. Maybe…'

'Phantom. I've told you enough times already and I don't want to nag at you again.'

'Whatever you say, Freud.'

:

* * *

:

_It was late… far too late. Why on earth was Neinheart taking so long to explain how bad the Black Mage was? That was why the five heroes had banded together in the first place, wasn't it? Phantom sighed as loudly and obnoxiously as his lungs would allow, stuck his tongue out at Luminous's glare, returned Neinheart's irritated gaze with a nonchalant one of his own._

_At Freud, he winked. And the redhead looked down at his notes. _

_To hide a blush, probably. Phantom's eyes worked well in the dark, were a million times better in dim lighting, and were always hunting. Hunting for gems. And on that note, signs that Freud became the beautiful ruby he was whenever he was embarrassed. _

'_The Dragon Master said you stole something that he had taken ages to craft,' murmured Mercedes, leaning over. 'I'm curious. What is it?'_

_Phantom snickered. He shook out his sleeve, ignoring the two stuffies glaring at him, and murmured back, 'This. I think it looks amazing. And just for the record, it didn't take ages. Did it out of a lump of sand, right before my eyes.'_

'_It is impressive,' chuckled Mercedes. Phantom noted the way her eyes lit up, as did children's when they watched him palm coins and gems, but this time he knew that the crystal dragon seemed to slip right out of his sleeve and coil up comfortably in his palm. _

_With a quick flick of his wrist, the dragon shattered and all that was left were shards glistening in his gloved hand. Mercedes let out a startled 'Oh, gods' and Neinheart began a lecture on the importance of being polite. Passive aggressive. Nice going there, advisor. Phantom groaned so Neinheart would believe he'd keep listening._

_Freud didn't look up._

'_I spent all week perfecting this trick,' purred Phantom smugly as he flicked his wrist and the dragon was back again. 'Freud is going to flip.'_

_Mercedes let out a little 'ooh' of surprise, which was very uncharacteristic of her, but they both were dying to see how Freud would react. Maybe they'd manage to get some reaction out of him this time._

_Much to the dismay of Phantom, Freud retired early to his study to pour over more books, as if what Neinheart had said wasn't enough… but then again when was anything enough for Freud? He and Mercedes watched the crystal dragon shatter and un-shatter too many times to remember until Neinheart lost his patience and chased them all to bed. With a smug little grin on his face Phantom rushed them to Freud's quarters, the Master Thief preparing the false shards and the crystal dragon for the trick._

_Phantom knocked once and opened the door without waiting for an answer. Phantom's eyes widened at the fortress of books and parchment that had arranged themselves around the desk, and he almost balked at how much Freud had already written. _

_Freud looked up with a scowl at having his concentration broken. Then he got up from his desk, the mildly irritated expression on his face gone. All that was left on his face was a quiet smile. In fact, his eyes were calm and there was a twinkle in them, and Phantom felt something in him dissolve and puddle around his feet at the way the mage looked absolutely delighted that he had stopped by. Freud's lips moved minutely, teeth peeking past his lips, and Phantom knew the mage was whispering his name — savoring the feel of it, rolling across his tongue, his favorite word. _

_Freud reached out for him eagerly. _

'_The trick,' whispered Mercedes. _

_And Freud took his wrist. _

_In a whirlwind of thoughts, all at the same time, Phantom tried to steady his sleeve, hide the shards, take Freud's hand, wave Mercedes out of the room, and calm his fluttering heart._

_He failed at all of them. _

_Shards flowed out of his sleeve. _

_And in one fluid motion, Freud had let go of Phantom's hand, stooped, swiped the crystal dragon out of the air as it fell, and stepped back to watch tiny little glass fragments dance around Phantom's feet._

_Mercedes snickered._

'_I'll be taking this,' smiled Freud._

_That cunning mage—!_

'_But Freud,' protested Phantom, wrist aching, but Freud would have none of it._

'_And you can sleep on the couch tonight.'_

At that point, he never knew the elven queen could paint, let alone paint that well. Gods damn it all. If he'd known, he wouldn't have let her come. Or maybe he would've wanted it.

Elven magic. Definitely. It was the only possible reason to explain how she'd managed to paint Freud caressing Phantom's name on his lips.

:

* * *

:

It took a few long minutes, a lot of knocking, and a lot of hollering before Evan finally answered the door. Phantom threw another fit when he saw that the sloppy kid had flung his muddy self into the fine, clean, silk bedsheets and had proceeded to leave various markings wherever he had rolled.

Forgetting that the angel was there, Phantom gave the boy the verbal lashing of his life, and he stood there with a quiet guilty silence that phantom was satisfied to receive. He could be angry about his exquisite carpet, exasperated that Evan was slowly and eventually going to ruin all his fine belongings… but he wasn't. It was something else entirely.

Sloppiness in behavior was sloppiness in character, ignorance of one's surroundings was ignorance of one's self, apathy for other's belongings was apathy for one's actions towards others — these things Freud believed in, but Evan never understood on his own. These he yelled at the top of his lungs and raged so hard that Mir had tears in his glassy eyes when he was done.

'If anyone hates being compared to Freud more than me, it's this kid,' said an older Dragon Master in his ear and he jumped, almost expecting Freud to be there, almost expecting him to stride over and give Evan some reassuring words. But there was only that translucent angel, floating a foot off the ground.

But the same deprecating look in his eyes. Phantom breathed in deeply.

'I'll wash these sheets myself, sir,' whimpered Evan, and the prepubescent voice that was the very opposite of what Freud always sounded like sent a shiver through him.

'Later,' he said, managing to sound calm again. 'Tell me about Afrien.'

Mir seemed to brighten up at the sound of his king's name, and despite his tears he bounded forward with enthusiasm. _He was in an ice cave. Master and I tried to go through, but there's some magic there. It blocked us._

'Magic?' phantom quirked an eyebrow. No lock, magic or not, could contain him now could it? 'What kind?'

Evan's face scrunched up in concentration. 'I dont know,' he said, voice slightly afraid. 'It feels like I should know it but I don't. Like... Like Utah's voice, except I know Utah's too scared to fight off foxes.'

Phantom regarded the boy curiously. What did foxes have to do with anything? Or maybe the point was Utah… 'Like the voice of someone you know?'

'Like something that's familiar,' prompted Freud, who was across the room inspecting the sheets.

True... It may have been Freud's very own magic. Anyone could sense his special signature magic. Especially Evan, who had a bond with him. Gods be damned, did Freud have to be so smart even in the afterlife?

'Is the magic familiar, Evan?' asked Phantom, after a moment of grudging hesitation.

No answer. The boy had suddenly frozen, and he was looking around anxiously.

'Evan?' Phantom growled. 'Distracted again? I'm right here, and I just berated you so severely —'

Then he realised evan's eyes were bright. The boy turned around then, eyes falling on the space where the angel was hovering.

He'd heard Freud. Phantom's stomach leaped.

'Is someone there?' asked Evan cautiously.

Freud hovered impassively in place as Evan wandered over, and Phantom watched, starstruck. Of course! Why hadn't he thought about it before? If Phantom and Freud were lovers and were able to touch, surely Freud and his successor would be able to as well… Sure enough here Evan was, walking in a straight line, right towards Freud, and it couldn't be a fluke, it had to be a sign… surely they'd touch now…!

Evan stopped walking and looked around. Phantom's stomach churned as the boy passed through the translucent hem of Freud's robe, his head and torso veiled thinly as if by some mist.

Phantom felt himself deflate.

Freud cocked an eyebrow at Phantom, a look that said he wasn't impressed, and vanished.

'It's gone now,' said Evan, matter-of-factly. He looked confused.

'What's gone?' asked Phantom. He let out the breath he had unconsciously been holding the entire time.

Evan looked around one last time (carefully keeping his eyes off the bed, realised Phantom) before turning around.

'Its the same magic as in the cave,' said Evan, perplexed. Mir whistled in agreement. 'Well... Not really the same, but still quite the same. Same enough. But now its gone.'

Thats right. Phantom sighed, the knot in his chest making it hard to breathe. It was Freud, not really Freud, but still quite Freud.

Freud enough to hurt.

'Sir Phantom… Afrien… I know where he is,' volunteered Evan. He scuffled his feet against the carpet. 'Can… can we —'

'Bathe and be ready in ten minutes.' Phantom cut him off. 'We're going to see this strange magic of yours.'

Before long the air out on deck was beginning to turn frigid. Perched on his favorite spot on the bowsprit, he could see everything for miles. Phantom watched the skies clear up, watched clouds grow on the horizon like fluffy mounds of snow.

He'd never really cared much for nature. The beauty of his many-faceted jewels, cut and polished until each was a work of art in itself, always fascinated him more and he could spend hours admiring a single gemstone. Yet it was only in Freud's company that he truly learned to see beauty in nature — in anything, really. The way time could paint colors across the sky, the way stars looked like pinpricks revealing the Heaven that lay beyond (thanks, dear angel, for ruining that lovely image he'd coined), the way the snow that was beginning to fall looked like dust from millions of angels all around him.

The gale that whipped around him reminded him of moments he spent, on spires and on cliffs, grassy hills and snow capped mountains, with a comforting presence settled beside him. It reminded him of fingers, so close to his that he could feel their heat. So close but never touching.

When Evan was finally done (nine minutes! He was early… for once!) he turned and checked Evan for stray flecks of mud (there was none), made sure his hair was in a more respectable mess (it was), made sure he was wearing his red cloak so he wouldn't freeze (he was). Mir was beside him, wearing a scarf and a little fur-covered vest, with holes for his arms and legs and wings. Phantom allowed himself a smile, he'd designed them personally and made sure the blue, coiling, dragon insignia was visible, on Evan's back and on the front of Mir's vest.

With a swirl of his own winter cloak, he teleported the three of them at the outskirts of Rien. The weather was fine and he didn't think a storm would be approaching any time soon, so they had enough time… and if night fell, the Lumiere was just a short distance away. He was going to spend as much time as they needed to find Afrien.

'What were you doing here anyway?' Phantom addressed the boy, who had to lift his legs high to take steps through the thick layer of snow around them.

Evan fidgeted nervously. Mir growled low under his breath and turned away.

'Evan? Mir?' Phantom glanced at them. It wasn't usual for the dragon to be this upset. 'What's gotten into you two?'

_We need to tell him, Master,_ said Mir, and there was something in his voice that chilled him to the bone. Evan hissed a flustered 'Shh!' at him.

Phantom raised an eyebrow. That wasn't meant for him, apparently…

_Master!_ frowned Mir.

'Alright!' Evan whined, frustrated. His head drooped. 'Sir Phantom… could we talk about this… somewhere more private?'

Phantom looked up. The air was suddenly colder, stiller, and the trees seemed to learn in closer to them in desperation to hear their conversation.

'Only if you tell me _every single thing_,' said Phantom sternly.

Evan and Mir exchanged glances before nodding.

They trooped over to the main town square. Phantom took in the oriental buildings, their curving spires, bamboo finishings, slanted tile roofs, and chuckled. He could almost imagine Aran bustling around with her people, in and out of houses, doing whatever the snow warriors did. He glanced at Evan, who was relieved that the snow wasn't so deep any longer, and a small part of him wished that the boy knew how to appreciate their landing in another Hero's birthplace.

To think two Heroes had their fates decided for them, located so close together.

They found Lilin, whom Aran had often mentioned fondly, sitting on a bench outside her house, reading a scroll that was unrolled across her lap. At the sound of their footsteps, she looked up, and Phantom was almost taken aback at the almost-clear irises that looked like crystals of snow, the same as Aran's.

'Master Thief Phantom,' she stood up slowly, folding her arms into her sleeves and bowing slightly.

'At your service,' Phantom put on a kind, charming smile and bowed deeply, sweeping his hat off for good measure. He noted with slight surprise that she, unlike any other girl, hadn't blushed at his grand entrance.

'Aran has told me about you,' she smiled, her gentle gaze making Phantom feel at ease almost at once.

'Did she tell you about how amazing and wonderful I am? How swift, or how deft, or how good my tastes are?'

'None of the sort,' chuckled Lilin, her sky locks swaying as she shook her head no. 'This must be Evan, the Dragon Master?'

Phantom raised an eyebrow. No comebacks about how Aran found him annoying? That was a first.

Evan nodded and cleared his throat. 'Glad to meet you, ma'am.'

Good. Manners. But not good enough, there hadn't been a handshake. Phantom glared at him until Evan realised and stuck his hand awkwardly out for her to take.

'And this is must be Mir, your Onyx Dragon,' she smiled, releasing his hand, and Mir waved a claw happily in greeting. 'I have heard of you both as well.'

'Indeed,' nodded Phantom. 'We were wondering if you could share your humble abode for us to take refuge from the cold. Evan wants to tell me —'

'How to find Afrien, Freud's dragon,' blurted Evan, and Phantom almost growled at having been cut off so unceremoniously. He'd have to give the boy a wallop after this. Making him look like a fool in front of Lilin?

'Perhaps I may be your guide,' said Lilin gently, a little penguin chick suddenly in her hands. She cuddled the creature, which seemed to be afraid of Mir. 'Rien can be a maze if one doesn't know which path to take.'

'If you would be so kind. But for now, we just need a place to discuss something urgent.'

Lilin smiled and turned. 'Follow me then. I shall have a fire going, and set some tea out.'

Her house — the livable part of it, at least — was small and efficiently furnished. Perhaps all the snow warriors and their descendants all lived the same lifestyles. A desk, a small dining table, a small kitchenette (oriental gas stove style), a couch, and a bedroom a ways down a corridor. Before long they were seated at the couch, sipping at a thick herbal broth as Lilin left them in private and adjourned to her library upstairs. (Surely not all the heroes had books around? lamented Phantom huffily.)

It was at this point he noticed a wisp of movement at the corner of his eye, and looked up in the middle of Evan's sentence to see the angel, hovering behind Evan and studying him curiously.

'… so the Black Wings wanted to fix what their leader couldn't,' Evan was concluding, slightly sadly, the tale of how he and Mir had stumbled upon the resting place of Afrien. 'Hiver gave me a black bone… then he sent me there and broke the seal…'

_It was Afrien's Master. He had set up the seal. We should not have broken it. But we did, _Piped in Mir. He was sitting upright on the chair and looking at Phantom with large golden eyes.

Phantom lowered his eyes. The seal that Freud had spent his dying moments erecting around his comatose partner. The thought that Evan had mindlessly broken it at the Black Wing's whim… 'You're probably right,' he hissed in agreement, his eyes flickering over to the angel, wondering how the real Freud would have reacted if he'd heard.

'I knew that they'd used us already,' said Evan, slightly bitterly, 'But I… I was too scared to ask if you'd help us fix the barrier.'

Phantom raised an eyebrow.

_Please_, said Mir, leaning forward and putting his claws on the table. Idly, Phantom checked that the table wasn't varnished before relaxing a little more. _We have done our wrongs. Master and I want to protect the last of my kind. But we are too weak. _

'That's why we asked you,' mumbled Evan, knotting and unknotting his fingers anxiously, as if afraid of Phantom's reaction. 'We can't do it alone. The spell was too powerful.'

Phantom sighed. Maybe Evan was learning to right his wrongs… this was probably the most mature thing he'd heard out of the boy's mouth ever since he'd stepped into the Lumiere. But the barrier protecting Afrien was probably layers thick, and knowing Freud, it was probably the most intricate spell Phantom would ever dream of seeing. He'd gladly protect his best friend's dragon, but he wasn't even sure that the three of them combined could recreate something as long-lasting as what Freud had achieved.

'Alright,' he said quietly, after a moment's contemplation. 'I'll guide you both, and if we really cannot do it then we shall ask the other Heroes for help.'

Evan nodded, relief apparent. 'Thank you.'

It was at this point that he realised that Freud was nowhere to be seen. The room was empty, save the three of them, and there was no extra eyes boring into him and reading into everything he said and did.

'I have a map,' he faintly registered Evan taking out a scrap of parchment paper which was old and barely readable. 'Maybe we could ask Lilin about it.'

'About what?' Footsteps marked Lilin's descent down the stairs.

Ah. Just as well then. Phantom got up. 'Evan has a map to show where Afrien is. Perhaps you could help us find it? He was teleported there the first time and didn't manage to get his bearings right.'

Lilin nodded. 'It would be a pleasure.'

He left the dragon master and the snowy lass at the table, climbing up the stairs. Maybe he'd find Freud, that is, if he was still in this dimension and not vanished back into Aether. Ask him his opinion. He ducked around every shelf, checking if the angel was there, having psychic-ed open a book to read and entertain himself.

To his disappointment, the library, all two levels of scrolls and dusty old journals, were empty. Maybe Freud had lost interest after all.

Phantom contemplated taking out his staff and trying to nick his wrist with a makeshift dagger. Gods did he actually miss that angel? What was so interesting about a Freud that wasn't really Freud, anyway? He missed the real Freud, not this replica. No, now he didn't really know which one he missed, the angel was both Freud and _not Freud_ at the same time… it was confusing, and he didn't like having such muddled thoughts.

Slightly dejected, he stuck his intact hands in his pockets to warm them and made his way back down to the first floor. When he rounded the landing to the second floor, he spotted a winged figure in white robes through the window, standing in the middle of the snow.

:

* * *

:

Freud laughed. Snow was amazing. Six sides, a beautiful, symmetrical and perfect crystal. The earth was _full_ of them. He let the little flake go and rubbed at the little cold spot it'd left on his palm, and watched as it floated back down to the ground amongst a million uncountable others.

The cold bit into him, but he relished it. So _this_ was cold. This was the cold that humans always feared, how could it possibly kill, or make them lose their fingers, or make them go unto uncontrollable bouts of chattering? It was amazing, a sweet caress of his skin of the wind, of nature as it exhaled for the final time of the year.

He could touch the snow, get onto his hands and knees, crush it in his fingers and feel it compact in his palms. Hell, he could leave footprints in the snow and trail his foot along the powder, and leave a trail, something far more significant than _dust_.

For those moments, he would always say he was _alive_ he was filled with so much warmth compared to the sombre chill he felt as an angel, and it was strange that the cold was besieging him and yet he felt a core of warmth inside. It felt surreal to have left an impression in the world. Surreal that _he_, _Freud_, actually mattered somehow.

The sun was out, and the warmth was irony on his cheeks. Tingling heat clashed with the frigid air, and in the confusion that he felt he realised the best part of being human — of _feeling_. Whatever Phantom had done to him when he touched his wrist, it might have been the greatest curse of all of Aether, but for this moment as he stood out in the snow, as he relished the sound of a quiet breeze… he felt complete.

He felt human.

As if it was something he'd always wanted to be, always waited to feel.

Or something he'd missed for far too long.

:

* * *

:

They could start. Finally. Evan was excited and could feel Mir's excitement too, like water flowing really quickly inside him.

Where was Sir Phantom? Not in the kitchen, maybe in the library… Did he go off to read too? Like Freud always did?

He climbed the stairs, looking around. The second floor had so many books crammed into it… wow. And oh!, there he was, looking out the window at something.

'Sir Phantom! I've got it!' yelled Evan at the top of his lungs, feeling so excited now that they had someplace to start looking. He ran towards him with Mir close behind.

The Master Thief spun around, and there was a desperate look in his eyes as he held up a finger, motioning to be quiet. Evan blinked, coming to a halt.

What had he done now, was he in trouble?

To his surprise, Phantom only sighed. 'He's gone…'

_Who?_ Mir plodded forward.

Phantom didn't shout or get angry. Instead he lowered his eyes, and he looked really gentle. Evan remembered how his mom always talked about the cat that she loved, the one that always scratched Evan but would sneak in for cream and purr like it owned the house. Phantom looked exactly like that.

'I was watching a little bird,' he said as he looked out the window. 'It's gone now.'

A bird? 'What kind of bird?' Evan asked, coming up beside Phantom and looking out the window.

'A shy bird… it had beautiful wings.' Phantom turned from the window. 'It's scared of me, but curious about me too. I don't know… a magpie. A starling.'

'Magpies and starlings don't come here in the snow,' Evan thought for a while. 'Oh… did I scare it away?'

Phantom shrugged. 'It's alright. It's gone. Where are we headed?'

Mir held up the map. _Here, _he pointed, indicating a red circle. _It's called Turtle Island. It's a bit far, but a boat trip takes about an hour… _

'Back to the Lumiere then,' said Phantom, and led them down the stairs.

They said "goodbye" and "thanks for the help" to Lilin before they trudged through the snow again. Evan looked around the house as they left, but he didn't see or hear any bird at all. How could Phantom say he'd been watching a bird, then?

There were penguins in Rien, but they were clumsy and not in the least scared. They talked, too.

Phantom was weird, , now he was being weird too. Like his mind was lost. He didn't talk much, just thought really hard in silence. Like when he talked about Freud. Mir noticed it too, but all he and Evan could do was shrug.

Turtle Island was waiting. Turtle Island didn't have time for silly little mysteries like that.

But really… what was Phantom looking at? Evan couldn't stop thinking about it.

It was just a bunch of footprints, going around in circles in the snow. What was so great about that?

* * *

**A/N —**

**Wow I'm _finally_ done with Chapter 4 so I can post this. And also, _four character POVs in one chapter?!_ never again *dies* sorry this chapter is such a muddle of scenes : realised that the optimal length of each chapter is around 4k for me so I'll condense more things into one chapter next time.**

**Sneaking in some time to write instead of doing my readings for tutorial later hurrhurr. Stay in school, kids.**


	4. Turtle Island

It took another few minutes on the Lumiere to get to Turtle Island. Phantom swore the entire way that Evan's map was wrong, that there was no land out in this stretch of the sea. And all Evan did was watch the clouds go by, with an uneasy yet quiet confidence.

Then upon the horizon, there appeared a tiny speck of ice.

'There!' Evan jumped up from his chair and pointed. 'I'm sure! I'm sure that's it!'

_I feel King Afrien's magic_, squeaked Mir excitedly, bouncing up and down on the spot. _I feel it now. It's getting stronger!_

Phantom allowed himself a chuckle. Such childish innocence could be allowed some time to bloom.

And then he grew increasingly tired of their bubbling as time passed by. Gods could they kick up a racket. Having Mir screaming in his head wasn't something that pleasant either. Thank transcendents the Lumiere reached Turtle Island before he felt it fit to strangle them both.

'Now now, Phantom,' murmured a familiar voice in his ear, 'Don't do what I think you want to do, or I'll make you accountable to their angels.'

'Make them stop then,' growled Phantom, hands over his ears as he stalked to the deck. 'If I burst a blood vessel, I'll die and it'll be your responsibility.'

They prepared to leave. Phantom pretended he hadn't seen the angel in the snow, and the angel pretended that he had never been there. As if running from their problems was going to solve anything, sighed Phantom. What a waste.

It was but the work of a moment before they were all standing on the shores of Turtle Island, and Mir and Evan were fidgeting uncomfortably, having gone utterly quiet.

In fact the entire coast was deathly quiet.

Even the waves lapping at the shore seemed to have been muted, creeping shyly up a coastline that looked more like powdered snow. No, like powdered bone fragments, piled against the rocks, soaked by tears of the dead. Trees stood out at awkward angles, some still richly green and full of life, some bare like skeletal fingers, some cloaked with rusty leaves of autumn. Flowers sprung from odd cracks in the rocks, sprouted at random places along the shoreline, and gathered in nooks at the glaciers nearby. Ice shrouded the grasses further inland, covered by a cape of snow. Despite the warmth, sunlight fractured in the clear bodies of icy stalactites sticking up from the ground and cast an ethereal glow across the white landscape.

There were a few trails of footprints, all from the same pair of shoes, tracing up and down from the shoreline and around a bend in the glaciers.

Evan's shoes. One stretch leading inland, another leading out. And Mir's clawed feet punctuating the snow wherever he had landed from gliding.

It was as if the very island were fragments of other lands, stitched together by sheer magic. Where summer, spring, autumn and winter coexisted all at once. The winds of time and change had never come, and so Evan's footprints were left here long ago, or from when he had last visited. His marks existed as it had been right from the very beginning, a unison of past and present combined.

Turtle Island was a paradox.

'This way,' murmured Evan, and before Phantom could protest or analyse the magic, he had begun carving another trail into the snow. Phantom glanced around, but there was only the snow, and the waves gently stroking the shore, and the ghostly white silhouette of the guardian angel, watching him.

Freud didn't play in the snow like he did earlier. The angel just floated along and watched with a strange, detached curiosity… but what the hell, if Freud didn't whine about him dying now, it was probably safe. It just felt odd, and the back of his neck tickled like someone was watching them.

They took a winding route through the glaciers which was clear of jagged rocks or cliffs that fell off to nothing. Icy wind nipped at Phantom's ears while the sun's rays felt almost scorching, and even in the glaring heat the snow was light, so thick around his shoes he found it difficult to trudge forward.

Evan and Mir led the way in front, the duo quiet and slightly restrained in the strange magic that enveloped the island. Maybe this Afrien's magic before he had met Freud — Phantom didn't remember feeling any type of magic so carnal before.

Before long, they came to a halt at the entrance of the cave. Evan merely took a backwards glance to make sure Phantom was still there before striding in confidently. Phantom halted a while on the edge, slightly uncomfortable. This ice, he recognised it, it was the cursed ice that held them in limbo for three centuries. He could feel the immense power pulsing from it — except this time, it was power from a different source. But he still felt unease either way, was this island formed partly out of Freud's magic, partly out of Afrien's, and partly of the Black Mage's?

'Sir Phantom!' yelled Evan, his voice sounding echoey and reedy as it bounced off the ice, 'Come see!'

He glanced at the angel, who shrugged.

Why was he even looking at Freud anyway? It wasn't like this Freud knew anything about this. With a sigh and with the transparent figure floating along beside him, he edged cautiously into the cave. Soft blue light filtered down through the ice, the very walls bouncing around the sun's scorching rays and illuminating the winding caverns within. He struggled to keep his eyes fixed in front of him, for at the edge of his vision, the reflection of a man in white uniform wearing a raven hat strode along and kept pace with him.

Suddenly an imperceptible thought tickled at the back of his mind, a mere impression rather than solid words. Of brown strands, a red flash, thick velvet, the strongest magic he had ever felt, and a smile that warmed him up from his insides.

'Sir Phantom?' Evan's voice cut into his thoughts, jarring him.

'Hush,' snapped Phantom.

But it was too late. Everything was gone, and all that was left was silence.

'What is it?' whispered Evan after a while.

'Every single time,' hissed Phantom under his breath. He came up to Evan, who was standing beside a particularly normal-looking chunk of ice. 'Nothing,' he said loudly. 'Forget it. What's the matter?'

The boy patted the block of ice. 'This.'

Mir stared expectantly back at him when he kept silent.

'Ah, yes,' hummed Phantom contemplatively. 'It's a block of ice. Amazing, it's almost as if Afrien had planted it here.'

'He did!' whined Evan. Phantom shivered. Gods, he hated when the boy did that. 'Afrien is right behind here.'

Behind "here"… Phantom looked up. They were right at the back of the cave, and it was just a plain wall of ice surrounding a perfectly round cave. It was definitely too small to house a dragon as big as Freud's dragon.

The disbelief must have shone on his face, because Evan was scowling. 'I promise, Sir Phantom. He's right behind here.'

'Prove it then,' murmured Phantom. There was a sour tang in his gut that said they'd come all this way for nothing, even despite the strangeness of this island.

Evan stepped forward. The surface of the ice shimmered, and then smudges of color began to form, like watercolor on black canvas.

Phantom gaped and watched in fascination as the blur colors focused, and Evan's face came into view. Tousled hair, childlike blue eyes, his purple headband, his red tunic… And then beneath all the colors, the curling insignia of a Dragon Master appeared, as if it were cut into the very ice.

'See?' hummed Evan, as he pulled away and the reflection vanished. Even the insignia disappeared, and it was just an ordinary block of ice again.

What kind of magic was this? It was incredible. Phantom strode quickly up to it and waited. Maybe his portraits could be painted like that too.

'Um, Sir Phantom…'

'Not now, Evan,' snapped Phantom. His reflection was supposed to appear any time soon —

A flash of skin appeared. Phantom brightened. Finally that block of ice was responding — no, it was painting the reflection upon it. Watercolor tones of oceans in two gentle eyes, hair as brown as cocoa, framed by two translucent wings and a white robe.

He turned around to see the angel, hovering over his shoulder.

A rumble shook the cavern.

'Afrien!' yelled Evan, not paying attention to the ice.

Out of the corner of his eye, a shadow moved _within _the ice as if something immense had just shifted inside it. A slight wind began to pick up, blowing one way, and then the next, as if the very cave were breathing.

_King Afrien!_ chirped Mir, bouncing on his claws.

_(… Freud?) _

Again, that faint impression, but this time a lone, single word forming faintly in his mind. It was a cry of joy, of sorrow, of desire — to do what? For what?

'That's…' Phantom turned to see the angel, staring with horrified eyes at the image on the ice. Freud brought a hand up to his face, and the reflection touched his own cheek, horrified and shocked at the same time. 'That… it can't be…'

'Did I wake him, Sir Phantom?' Evan dashed over to him. He could see the boy's eyes shining with untainted excitement. 'Afrien made another barrier but he told us that another Dragon Master would be able to break it, maybe he's awake and can join us now!'

'You woke something, all right,' muttered Phantom distractedly in reply.

'It's cause only a Dragon Master can unlock it,' puffed up Evan. 'When their reflection appears, the seal is weakened for a while. Afrien can feel it!'

'I'm not a dragon master,' said the reflection in the ice, as the angel muttered his agreement.

_(Freud.) _

The rumble came, louder this time, more resolute, and the walls of ice shuddered so hard they might break any time soon.

_(It's you, Freud.)_

'No,' whispered the angel.

And with a whirlwind that drove snowflakes fluttering to the air, the rumbling ceased, and all whispered thoughts of Freud silenced, and they might as well have had been standing in the middle of a snowglobe that someone had just shaken.

:

* * *

:

His hands couldn't stop trembling. Neither could his knees. Still he forced himself down the endless corridors of Aether, jaws gritted and wings pulled tightly against him for comfort.

Aether was _cold_, compared to Turtle Island. It was empty.

Walk, Freud, walk. It didn't make sense. The man in the painting was gone, three hundred years dead, and yet when he'd leaned over Phantom's shoulders, he'd seen that same man again, in _his own clothes_, wearing _his wings_.

Angels didn't have reflections. They didn't need to know how they looked.

But it was definitely him, it had moved, it had mirrored his hand, mirrored his horror. It couldn't have been anyone else. But it couldn't have been him.

Right?

He came to a set of marble doors, rising so high he didn't know when it ended, but things were like that in Aether, no beginning, no end.

With a glance around to make sure no angel was nearby, he slipped through the doors and closed them behind him. He knew what to look for. The shelves upon shelves upon shelves of crystal orbs gleamed at him, and in each he saw a faint stirring of a dream — or perhaps a memory? — flashes of color and imprints, mouths shaping words, images, sounds.

He kept to the middle of the isles. He hadn't a clue what would happen if he touched any of them, but he knew he didn't want to touch any that weren't… ah. Here it was. This one, a plain crystal orb sitting atop a tiny frame just like all the others, and on that circular frame a single word was engraved in gently slanting, precisely looping cursive.

_Freud_.

It was calling out to him. Carefully, so as not to disturb any other orb or even a single speck of dust, he flapped his wings to come level to the orb. He wasn't sure, but wisps of midnight blue, of velvety red rose to the surface. A thin tendril of golden, followed by strands upon strands of sandy yellow, intertwined with smudges of the deepest purple he had ever seen. Again and again they rose, mingling with each other in a choreography that he couldn't understand. It was perhaps the most important parts of the Dragon Master's life, before it all turned to gruesome black, putrid black, cracks of utter and sheer blackness racing across the curved crystal surface for a terrifying moment before it turned clear again.

He waited, but there was nothing left. The crystal looked so smooth, and something inside him yearned to touch the cool surface, feel it under his skin —

'What a fine day to meet you here, Angel Freud.'

The voice had surprised him, but he refused to let it show. He withdrew his hand and spun around, composing himself before dropping to the ground like a stone. 'Archangel Destiny,' he bowed slightly, fluttering his wings behind him.

The little girl before him had the palest skin he had ever seen, with snow-white hair and eyes as clear as a crystal stream. 'I'd hate to have one of those orbs stolen.'

'I know, Archangel. But I wasn't planning to steal it, only to see what it held.'

'To borrow it? You could've asked.' The Archangel hummed. She had another of those orbs in her hand, and she was stroking it as one would a little cat.

'Just because I didn't ask doesn't mean I was planning to steal it.' Freud sighed.

'It would interfere with your purpose, Angel. You know this room holds —'

'The orbs of every living being's consciousness.' He finished her sentence, and she let him. 'I merely wanted to see what a certain Dragon Master had experienced in his past life —'

'And see for yourself what his _purpose_ was, no?'

Freud nodded stiffly. 'I have heard countless stories of this Dragon Master, and it is of utmost importance for me to…'

To confirm if he was the Freud who loved Phantom, or the Freud who had the companionship of the Onyx Dragon called Afrien, or the Freud that was predecessor to the little boy Evan. To confirm if he was truly a Dragon Master in his past life. But surely he couldn't say that, now could he?

'To what?' Destiny cocked her head innocently.

'I must know if Freud is the hero everyone makes him out to be. What your purpose for him was,' lied Freud.

The little girl looked surprised at his answer, but Freud knew better. She could probably see through him and read him like a book.

'I do have a purpose for him. All angels have to protect their wards until these wards have fulfilled them, no? Yet…' mulled Destiny, shaking out two tiny feathery wings behind her, 'After you know his purpose, what do you plan to do with this information?'

Freud blinked. 'I would —'

'What if _Freud_'s purpose didn't align to what you thought of him?' The angel walked over to him, and the shelves seemed to loom in even closer. 'What if the Dragon Master let you down?'

'Let me down?'

'Indeed. That you — and everyone else — are mistaken about who he was meant to be.'

'The Dragon Master lived a selfless life.'

'Ah, but that's what Phantom told you, no? Phantom won't know if I'd planned for the gracious, wise scholar to be merely a front, a means to an end.'

'It doesn't concern me. I have no bearing on what that scholar might have done.'

Something lit up in the girl's eyes. 'But you _believe_ that he was good. That he served a good purpose.'

'I still do.'

Destiny fixed him with a cool gaze.

'I see how it is… you want to believe that he's you. That's why you're so concerned about the Dragon Master. Evan wishes he could match up to Freud. And you… you are the very same.'

He had to use every ounce of his control to keep his expression calm. She was right on point… In a way Freud wanted to know everything about the Dragon Master, and hence about the person he _used_ to be. But if the Dragon Master's purpose was completely different from what he'd expected, how was he supposed to face the truth of that?

What was he expected to do then?

'Would you rather I let you see your past — and your purpose — and let you struggle if they don't match? Or would you rather never know, and be everything you believe that you were supposed to be?'

There was a trace of bitterness in his throat now that the words were hovering in the air between them. Since had he become attached to the identity that Phantom had forced upon him? And not to mention even Evan too, when Evan said he sensed him?

'And if I said I'd rather know?'

The little girl circled him before holding up the orb. He blinked, he hadn't even seen the angel move, and suddenly _Freud_'s crystal orb was spinning atop her fingers, glittering in the light of Aether.

Destiny chuckled. 'Freud was obsessed with finding out the truth, too.'

'Excuse me,' hissed Freud.

The little girl laughed. 'Have you imagined what will happen when you see Phantom in front of his precious display?'

His eyes widened.

If Freud found out the truth about the Dragon Master… he'd have to continue watching Phantom mourn for his friend, while knowing a greater truth about him. A small part of him didn't want to see Phantom hurt, another part of him wanted Phantom to know the truth about his friend, and yet another part of him wanted nothing more to do with any of this.

_I'm not even Freud. Phantom isn't mourning for me._

_And if I find out that Phantom's friend is actually no friend at all… What do I say to Phantom? _

_Why am I even concerned about Phantom, anyway? There must've been a reason why my reflection was the same as that in Phantom's painting. _

'What'll it be, Freud?' smiled Destiny, offering the crystal ball tantalizingly.

The orb was transparent, as if it didn't want to tell him anything else. But suddenly for the briefest of moments, it clouded over and turned completely white before all trace of colour vanished.

_Tabula rasa_. The words floated briefly in his mind. Latin. A blank slate, a clear canvas, an unused journal.

He glanced up. Destiny's eyes were locked on his, and she didn't notice the slight movement in the orb.

It was telling him… no, _the Dragon Master_ was telling him to experience it as a new person, rather than look through his memories…?

'No,' he gritted out, pretending to be unable to hide his bitterness. 'I don't want anything to do with Freud. I'm not him.'

'Of course you aren't,' purred Destiny. With a snap of her fingers, the orb dematerialised from her fingers and appeared back in its spot on the shelves.

He saw it flash white again, just for a split second.

Then it occurred to him — acting out of selfishness, in desperation, lying to get what he wanted… these were all the flaws that made a human being _human_. In a way it felt somewhat liberating to act in this irrational, un-angelic manner.

'Excuse me,' said Freud curtly for the second time that day.

Destiny smiled, but there was a slight warning edge in her voice. 'Don't forget, Freud. The Dragon Master is dead.'

'I know,' Freud said, returning a smile of his own as he stepped back out of Aether.

:

* * *

:

Phantom took a couple steps backwards and let himself fall back onto his bed. Gods damn it, it'd been a tiring day… The seal he and Evan had constructed (_re_constructed?) should hold, though it wasn't as strong as Freud's, but some new magic couldn't hurt the sleeping dragon. A handful of his strongest seals, like the ones surrounding his hideouts. (Not the one that he bought that stupid guard bot _Guardioso_ or whatever it was called, damn thing broke down and nearly cost him his head. What a rip-off.)

What with the stupid angel appearing and messing up his thoughts like that… First the nightmare, one that he had been having far too often, of Freud lying slumped against his dragon, mixed with elements of Aria lying slumped against Shinsoo, feathers to scales to robes to silk…

This whole thing was a disaster.

Phantom sighed again, closing his eyes and flinging an arm over his head. Well, at least the angel was off running along in Aether or wherever, Evan's shoes and Mir's claws were wiped before they came back in the Lumiere, and his room didn't smell like wine anymore (although the stains were still there).

Phantom's stomach growled. He curled on his side, sulking. Already in the middle of the day and he hadn't yet had a scrap of food in his stomach. Not with all the fuss that was happening.

'Phantom,' yelled a familiar voice in his ear, startling him.

He jerked upright and swore as his forehead collided with something hard, dropping back down to the bed and curling up on his other side.

'Gods, _damn _it,' he snarled, blinking tears from his eyes. Oh, how that smarted. Ow. 'What are you doing peering over my face like that?'

Freud was on his side too, on the other side of the bed. 'How was I supposed to know you'd sit up like that? Gods, does it usually hurt this much?'

Phantom sat up, rubbing his forehead. And to his surprise, the angel was curled up like him, nursing a bruise on his otherwise pale forehead.

'Phantom,' gasped the angel, twisting around in the sheets and gripping his arm. The touch sent a tingle up his skin. 'You said I was Freud.'

Wait… what?

'Yes,' began Phantom warily.

And then Freud's words gave him the biggest shock of his life.

'Teach me how to be him.'

Phantom blinked in astonishment. 'Hey. Don't say things like that if you don't mean it. One moment you're threatening to kill me if I even _hinted_ that you were Freud and now you're —'

'Please,' gritted the angel.

The words turned to ashes in Phantom's mouth.

'Why me?' Phantom folded his arms and tried to look stern.

Freud sat up, sorely rubbing at his forehead. 'Oh, stop with that high and mighty act of yours. You've been dying to do this the entire time, haven't you?'

'No.'

Freud raised an eyebrow.

'Alright. Maybe,' growled Phantom. 'But we're doing this my way.' He jabbed at the angel's chest. 'Listen up. Freud is dead, and you're just an angel. You will never be Freud if you don't remember anything from your past, so I'm only going to try to get you your memories back.'

He didn't look surprised one bit.

'You're just grumpy because you haven't had breakfast.'

'This is serious, Freud!'

'Alright, alright. I was just messing with you.'

Phantom huffed and turned away, reaching for a card to order breakfast and lunch together. Gods, he was hungry. And well, maybe he was just a bit peeved that the angel could read him as easily as Freud could. It was endearing, the way Freud could do that, but it was weird to have someone who was almost a complete stranger doing it to him.

'Phantom?'

'Yeah?'

'Thank you.'

He turned to face the angel, who looked as if he had many other things to say but wasn't ready to. For a moment it was really the dragon master standing there, looking like the world was weighing down on his shoulders.

'Freud always used _thank you_ rather than _thanks_,' he noted.

The angel smiled, and Phantom could tell that some of the weight had just disappeared. It was an expression he was proud to be well acquainted with.

'Maybe you're right, you know.'

'Hmm?'

'That I'm Freud.'

There was definitely more to the angel's statement — why had he suddenly said that? Maybe seeing his reflection on the ice had jolted something inside him. But the dragon master always said what he wanted to in time. 'Well,' chuckled Phantom softly, 'You're a lot more Freud-like than I'd want to admit too.'

'That makes the two of us.'


	5. Hunger

**AN — **I've got the weekend to write at last (heaves sigh of relief). I tried a slightly different style of writing for this chapter and all subsequent ones, so we'll see how this goes. It's also why this chapter is shorter than the others. Comments about the style are, of course, always welcome. Hope you all enjoy! (:

* * *

A deep fried chicken drumstick rose like a tower out of a sea of salted fries. Acting as a coastline was a thick slab of steak, with lightly-charred parallel bars running across its moist flank. It was slathered in a liberal serving of savoury, slightly peppery mushroom sauce, the soft stalks still fluffy after being sauteed. The rich, intoxicating aroma of freshly charbroiled meat hung in the air, mingling with the fragrant and lightly caramelized scent of oxtail stew… and Phantom made a sound of annoyance.

'Tch. Can't smell my wine over all this meat.'

Freud shook his head as Phantom swirled the glass and held it below his nose. 'You have all this good food and you're still complaining —'

Phantom held up a finger, cutting him off. 'You are the reason I haven't had a single drop pass my parched throat this entire morning. A Master Thief, of all people, deserves some respite from the thirst.'

'The more you complain, the drier your throat will be.' Freud noted.

Phantom shot him a glare but downed the half-glass of wine at once.

'So much for appreciating it,' muttered Freud as he rolled his eyes.

'Shut up and eat. You wanted to remember about your past, didn't you?'

Freud chuckled and turned to the tray set out for him. It was a more decent affair: a bowl of tossed salad and hunks of cheese nestled between the leaves, accompanied by a whole-grain sandwich. Ham, by the looks of it. A bowl of light pumpkin soup, a drizzle of cream on its smooth surface. And a pot of tea, its fragrance so light that Freud couldn't smell it over the dizzying aroma of meats and gravy.

'I don't think angels can eat…'

Phantom contemplated. 'You could knock heads with me earlier…'

The bruise on Freud's head smarted in agreement.

'And you said you couldn't touch _anything_ at all before. No?' Phantom daintily forked a french fry into his mouth. 'Just eat, or try to. Your angel rules are all wrong for some reason. I bet it's because of my amazing presence.'

Freud contemplated Phantom's calm expression. Phantom couldn't know anything about his circumstance, but all these new experiences — of emotions, touch, snow, and how he looked like — had only come about because of Phantom. Maybe there was some truth in it after all.

He picked up the sandwich almost reverently. It felt strange in his fingers, and it actually had weight. The bread was coarse and pebbled.

'Eat it,' said Phantom pointedly.

Freud shot him a look that said _Let me take my time_ and turned back to the sandwich before slowly bringing it to his mouth like Phantom did. He began chewing and then he swallowed — it was like reflex, he didn't need to think about it, which was strange because he hadn't ever had food in his mouth in his lifetime.

The taste overwhelmed him and he had to set the sandwich down.

'How is it?' Phantom watched him eagerly, half the food on his plate gone already.

'You know I don't like mayonnaise in my sandwiches.'

The words were out of Freud's mouth before he'd even registered them, and they were so foreign that he was shocked to hear them.

Phantom grinned. 'I thought as much.' He produced another plate, an identical sandwich on it, and handed it to Freud. 'Here. No mayonnaise.'

Freud ate like he hadn't eaten before. Everything was heavenly to him, these new tastes and the various textures upon his tongue were experiences he wouldn't ever have dreamed of. The saltiness of ham, sweetness of the lettuce, powdery cheese, the tangy aftertaste of tomatoes…

He ate like a man he once guarded — he was a beggar on the side of the street, and Freud always wondered how any scrap in those rotting bins could be consumed so reverently, but now he knew why.

A hungry man treasured every bite… and Freud had only just learned what hunger was.

Finally sated, he leaned back in Phantom's velvety chair and let out a sigh. The food before him wasn't even half finished, while Phantom had already cleaned his plate. 'I don't think I can eat any more.'

'No matter.' Phantom waved a hand dismissively. Freud wondered if the Dragon Master had a small appetite too; Phantom seemed to have expected his response. 'At least have some tea.'

Freud poured out a small cup for himself and brought it to his lips. He spent some time breathing in its scent, appreciating the way the fragrance calmed his nerves a level further. The warm liquid slipped like liquid gold down his throat and he hummed his appreciation.

And Phantom let out a laugh then, at the way Freud looked like he was having an orgasm at every bite (that was new), at the way Freud still sighed the same way after the meal, at the way Freud inhaled the fumes of his favorite tea like an addictive drug. Phantom found that watching the angel slowly re-experience Freud's footsteps was a lot more satisfying than he'd expect.

His heart twinged then, and he merely smiled at Freud's enquiring gaze. In a way, he felt kind of guilty…

This was the last meal that Freud had eaten before they had gone to war.

An hour later they were striding along the wide halls of Ereve. The shining armour and grand carpets didn't surprise Freud at all, even though he'd never had a ward step foot inside here before. The Dragon Master must've become so at home here that the familiarity simply lingered until now.

They made their way to the conference hall. When Phantom and Luminous passed each other in the hallway, Freud unknowingly tensed.

'Stuffy pants,' greeted Phantom.

'Pesky thief.' Luminous nodded in reply.

'Did you get the report from Oz?'

'I did,' Luminous held up a sheet of paper. 'I have not yet had the time to peruse it.'

Phantom tutted and held out a copy of his own, already annotated with the thief's blocky, capital typeface. 'Here. I saved you the trouble. Even someone as learned as me has no idea what "amplification" does, so I'll leave that to you.'

'Amplification is just a more sophisticated way of saying _increased_. Mages do it to temporarily double or triple their magic.' Luminous ignored Phantom's jibe, took the proffered report and leafed through it.

'I see. Well, knowledge is something a thief has to learn, not steal.' Phantom admitted, grinning. 'Hey… Aren't you going to thank me for my work?'

'It is not as in-depth as I expected. But regardless, I would not have guessed that you would be good for something,' Luminous replied without looking up.

Phantom chuckled. 'That's as close to a _thank you_ as I'm going to get, aren't I?'

'Indeed.'

The thief stepped aside to let Luminous by and headed for his seat. Freud relaxed, but he was bewildered. This scene, the scene of Phantom and Luminous conversing calmly, was one he was surprised to see.

'That's new,' he murmured after a few minutes of contemplation. 'I was expecting some hearty bickering to occur.'

'Hey, even the most amazing characters like me need some development as things progress, you know.' Phantom preened. A wave of his hand and paper and pen appeared in front of him. 'Now hush. The meeting's about to start.'

Freud allowed himself an amused smile. The Phantom he thought he knew would be complaining loudly, who cared if anyone wasn't listening — and yet here he was, patiently waiting for Neinheart to take his place on the podium.

He watched Phantom take notes from Neinheart's briefings. Gods, that advisor was dry. Poor heroes… Poor Phantom, having to put up with this. The monotonous drone was enough to make Freud bored. Then as time passed by, he watched Phantom _try_ to take notes from the briefing. Then Phantom gave up taking notes and tried to just keep his eyes open.

'It isn't _that_ hard, Phantom,' mused the angel quietly as Phantom stifled a yawn. 'Just focus.'

'I'm trying,' muttered Phantom back drowsily. 'Easy for you to say, _Freud_. I'm new to this whole being-a-good-scholar business. Cut me some slack.'

The angel raised an eyebrow. 'New? So why are you trying so hard then?'

'Because.' Phantom sighed and picked up his pen to doodle on the margins of his notepad to stay awake. Freud caught sight of some crumpled angel taking form there, wearing a winged headband. 'Because there's nobody else to remind the world of Freud.'

Nobody left but Phantom himself?

'I'm here, aren't I?'

'Nah, you're still a Freud-in-training,' smirked Phantom. 'More specifically, you're my guardian angel now. But I am — and have always been — the guardian of who Freud used to be.'

:

* * *

:

After another whole antagonizing hour… Neinheart wasn't done. Freud had taken the liberty to pay a visit to the library, after having seen the shelves and shelves of books, he hadn't the heart to continue his tour around Ereve. He discreetly pulled books out of their slots when nobody was looking and set them at the top of the shelves, settling above to read.

Strangely, almost every book he picked was familiar in one way or another. As if he'd read them before, in another time too long past.

He had just finished scanning through the contents of another shelf when he staggered mid-flight. A wicked, searing cut of pain had opened up on his chest, running from shoulder to midriff, and he nearly lost the momentum needed to stay in the air.

This pain… the same kind of pain that stabbed at his neck when Phantom was trying to stab that letter opener into his jugular. There were no sounds beyond the occasional flipping of pages, and no disturbance at all.

Freud gritted his teeth at the oblivious people mulling about the library, hoping desperately that their angels would take charge should the battle drift their way.

Concentrating, he teleported straight into the conference hall, poised for action.

And saw Phantom, drooling on the sheet of notes he was taking.

Neinheart was still carrying on, in his drawling, roundabout speech. Phantom's colleagues, Luminous and Aran, were snickering at Phantom's expression, and Mercedes was trying to get them to shush. Across the hall, the five Knights (of Cygnus, he'd just read earlier) were calmly discussing plans amongst themselves.

No sign of battle anywhere.

The pain shot up his chest again and he stumbled, barely managing to catch himself in time.

And then he knew what the pain meant.

_No, but I haven't gotten the answers I need. Phantom is the only way I can find out about Freud… But my duty…!_

He made his choice and glided swiftly over to Phantom, shaking him awake.

Ignoring the thief's startled grunt, he smacked his cheeks, trying to slap the attention back into those glazed eyes. 'Phantom, wake up. We have to go.'

'Wha… what?' Phantom scrubbed half-heartedly at the spittle on his chin. 'Go where —'

Freud took Phantom's wrist firmly. 'If you don't get up now —'

The doors to the conference hall burst open, and a raggedy Thunderbreaker staggered into the hall, disrupting the meeting. Freud gritted his jaws together against the pain as Phantom shook his arm out of his grip.

'Advisor,' cried the knight, a trickle of blood running down her head. 'Hilla… her forces are attacking… Victoria Island!'

'Empress,' breathed Phantom.

'Phantom, no,' pleaded Freud breathlessly, the pain making it hard to get his words out. But he could see it, Phantom's eyes alight with the promise of vengeance. 'Listen Phantom —'

The heroes surged to their feet. 'Where? How many?' growled Luminous.

'Demons, Hilla's skeleton army… too many to count…' the Thunderbeaker coughed and spat blood. 'Henesys was first to get attacked, Roca sent me to tell you the news…'

'My knights will contain her forces in the surrounding areas. You Heroes are dispatched to Henesys —' Neinheart pointed at the knight, who had collapsed in a pool of her own blood, '— someone get that knight medical attention immediately!'

Phantom turned to the other Heroes as they made their way past the clamoring crowd to him. 'I don't care what the plan is,' his voice and eyes were icy cold, 'But Hilla is mine.'

After Hilla made a mockery of the Skaia and publicly defaced Cygnus, everyone knew Phantom was going to make her pay for the sins she hadn't yet atoned for.

The other three regarded Phantom's venomous glare and nodded their assent.

'Mercedes is most mobile, she'll be in charge of evacuations,' began Aran. Phantom turned and stalked out the door even as she talked, and they let him leave. 'Luminous and I will fend off the main horde…'

'Phantom, please,' Freud grabbed Phantom's arm, trying to pull at him. He might have well been just a stray breeze with the way Phantom paid him no heed at all. 'You can't go.'

'It's about time that bitch showed up,' gritted out Phantom with a calm smile. He twirled the cane in his hand, the murder weapon, the outlet for his anger.

'Phantom, you can't —'

'I've been waiting so long for her to show her goddamn face again.'

'Listen. You can't go!'

'To think I'd actually spent a month after her little _stunt_ hunting for her. If I'd known she'd appear right in our turf, I'd just have waited. Humiliate the Skaia, humiliate the Empress, now would she?'

'Snap out of it, Phantom!'

'What?' roared Phantom at him, eyes livid and filled with a mad rage. Freud halted in his step, under Phantom's wild gaze. 'Are you going to be like Freud too? To preach forgiveness and acceptance? Is that it?'

'No! It's not that —'

'Then what?' Phantom gripped his cane. 'Every second I spend here listening to your half-hearted protests, I lose a second chasing _her_.'

Freud drew breath to reply Phantom, but the words were stuck in his throat. The stabbing in his chest didn't so much as falter as Phantom waited impatiently for his reply.

'Just tell me what's wrong.'

'I can't,' gasped Freud.

Phantom narrowed his eyes.

'Please trust me,' pleaded Freud. 'Just this once.'

'I trust you enough to keep me alive in the battle, my sweetest guardian angel,' purred Phantom, a thin acerbic smile painted on his face. 'I'll trust you to that.'

Freud tried to protest, but he couldn't deny it, he couldn't get the words out. All he managed was a feeble 'Don't go.'

'Look, if you miss me, just tag along. I'd appreciate that.'

'Phantom. Please.'

Phantom's smile faltered. A flicker of doubt crossed his eyes, as if he was contemplating why Freud was so insistent about him not going.

'If I can't avenge the Dragon Master's death… At least let me avenge the memory of the Empress,' he murmured.

_That isn't the point, Phantom! _Freud screamed in his mind, the words he wanted to spit out but couldn't. _I would tell you why if I could, but I can't, not when I'm an angel! _

'If you're not going to help me, at least stay out of my way.'

With that, and a whirl of his white silken cape, Phantom turned on his heel and strode down the hallway, leaving the angel gasping for breath where he stood.

And all Freud could do was stare as the key to his past and his present stalked away.

_That isn't the point, _he thought vainly, as he leaned against the wall, fighting to draw breath. _I can't tell you anything because I know when you're going to die._


	6. The City of Thieves

Golden flowing locks, blue silk robes, a slender frame. A hand, thin and effeminate, fingers deftly clasped around a golden chain. Sunlight fragmenting within a crystal, the deepest purest shade of crimson.

A voice, carrying clearly across the wind, addressing the whole of Ereve, her subjects.

'Skaia, the keepsake from Empress Aria, is glowing brightly in my hand.'

Phantom felt his breath hitch.

'This proves that I have the power of an Empress, and her entire bloodline.'

He let himself smile.

'Understand? Now you know who the true master of Ereve is.'

He could hear it like he was there, her soft chuckle, see the way she smirked and turned to the speechless young lady on the podium.

Phantom's smile grew. Scorn _Aria's_ bloodline, would she? He'd make her pay. For every word she'd uttered, that contemptuous little smirk, and the way she'd made the whole world doubt the validity of her dearest niece.

Hilla's face was the only thing in his mind as he strode down the wide corridors of Ereve. Amidst the chaos that was unfurling there, he looked to be the calmest man around. Just like one who was ready to meet his destiny.

To say that Hilla's forces had _ravaged_ Henesys was a grave understatement. But nothing stopped him, not fires, or fallen buildings, or the cries of children, the groans of wounded enemy. He merely, calmly, dedicatedly followed the trail of destruction on swift foot, coming to a halt at the entrance to Kerning City.

_The City of Thieves_. It had to be fated, this was where Hilla would fall, and fall majestically. By his hand alone. With the smile that hadn't left his lips since Ereve, and a twirl of his cane, he bounded up the last standing crane and surveyed the scene before him, eyes methodically searching for the locks of fiery hair.

She was staring at him, smirking up at his silhouette against a blood red sky and the cape billowing in the smoky wind. Phantom barked out a harsh laugh as she lifted her hand and tweaked her finger at him, beckoning him down.

His smile widened into a grin.

'Don't mind if I do,' purred Phantom, cards appearing in his other hand as he took a flying leap off the metal frame.

He barely registered Freud's shout and the wings flapping about him; the sour tang of revenge was so strong on his tongue that he couldn't care less about anything.

'Dear Hilla. Devised any new ways to try to steal the throne yet?' smirked Phantom, as he materialised behind Hilla, having teleported from mid-air.

She spun around, looking pleasantly surprised. 'Why, Phantom. Fancy seeing you here. Alive, after what Lotus did.'

He charged, light-footed, sure-footed, with the speed of a nimble thief, so blinding that she barely had time to lock her staff with his glowing cane. 'The true Skaia protected me, you see.'

'Pity.' Hellish fires erupted around her, forcing Phantom back. 'I should've cleaned up after him, made sure I'd send you the same way your _lover_ went.'

He felt his eyes narrow and ducked a flare of lightning that soared over his head. Let her talk. He swung his cane and slit the throats of the next two Black Wings in his path, smashed another skeleton soldier, constantly seeking out Hilla's weak spots as he circled her.

'I didn't crack your skull the last time we met,' he chuckled, his cane a staff in his hand as he sent a wave of electricity at the wave of skeleton soldiers coming his way. 'Time to fix that.'

'Try me, Master Thief.'

Phantom kept moving, always mindful of his cape, wouldn't help getting that singed now would it? He didn't take notice of Aran, who was holding off a contingent of soldiers from surging into the main square. The arrows and bolts of magic being fired his way were mere distractions as he was protected by the shell of holy energy around him.

The world was but static as he circled her. Her voice kept his world sharply in focus, to dodge deadly waves of fire and magic, to run circles around her, to study the way she flung her staff to launch an attack.

It was something he'd learned from Freud — more knowledge never hurt.

She yelled something at him, an expletive, he hoped, and sent a blast of dark energy his way. He laughed and merely sidestepped, and laughed louder when it struck the demons rising up behind him.

'Any new tricks, my lady?' he grinned.

She snarled.

And then he attacked.

Phantom leaped into the air, his cane glowing white-hot, morphing into a dagger, and he savored Hilla's shock as she witnessed the _shuriken_ materialising behind him for the second time so far. Whirling upon her a split second later, his cane jabbing like a sword, the keen edge everywhere seeking her skin, her flesh, her blood.

Wherever she turned, he was there, her body language familiar: he'd played the scene of her, flaunting the Skaia, so many times that he could read her like a book. He blocked off one route, and then the next, with a gleaming card that rained rubble around her. Rose petals and dark magic marked their rapid dance as he hounded her down one alley, and then the next, ignoring the burns of magic on his skin.

It didn't matter how many soldiers there were, he just sent a card into their spine or between the eyes, and they fell like paper dolls. Everywhere Hilla turned, three demons rose up in her wake, but he dispatched them with barely a hiss before latching onto her trail again. Lightning and fire didn't even faze him, he just melted into the darkness in the split second between flashes of searing light when the eye was numb, and reappeared someplace else, cane raised and ready.

He attacked relentlessly, heedless to the screaming of his muscles, the way he was pushing himself to the limit. Hilla was breathing harder, matching the heaving of his own chest. The red lines where his cards had split her skin made him, if anything, more hungry to see her blood spilled across the grimy concrete streets of the city.

Suddenly there was an explosion so loud it rocked the streets. He recognised the white flare of Luminous's magic and smiled.

Hilla blanched. He saw the slight hesitation in her step, her left flank unguarded, and he dove in.

A crow to carrion.

But then again, he should've realised that one of the Black Mage's best commanders would never forget to defend her stance.

Phantom noticed her weight shift too late. And he realised that he had been being too cocky.

Her staff came crashing down on his chest, knocking the air from his lungs. He skidded along the ground, dragged back by the force of the blow.

Everything was blurry, his head was pounding fiercely, his cane, where was his cane? Couldn't see… vision hazy, odd silhouettes and double images everywhere.

'I'm not that easy a target as you'd think,' purred Hilla, her voice hazy. 'Didn't think you'd take the bait this easily.'

He tried to shake away the ringing in his ears. The cane was lying a distance away out of arm's reach, its gemstone scratched.

'So, Master Thief…' Her high heels came to rest in front of him. 'It would seem that I have completely overestimated you and your fancy light show.'

He ground his teeth as she fitted her staff under his chin and tilted his head up. Another loud explosion rang out somewhere to his right, the roar of the blast slightly muffled even now.

'I have sleeves,' said Phantom weakly and smiled. 'And maybe even a winning card, or two, hidden there.'

Hilla's eyes widened but she wasn't fast enough to dodge his next flurry of attacks. She screamed as a whirlwind of cards whipped up around him, slicing and cutting at her and forcing her backwards. Phantom staggered to his feet, clutching at his chest.

His hand came away bloody.

Where was Freud? It suddenly occurred to him that the angel was nowhere to be seen. Fine then, he'd have to do it without him.

The master thief gritted back the pain and lunged for his weapon, snatching it up from the ground. It turned into a bow in his hands, and he concentrated, sending a card shooting towards her to throw her off his tail, glowing feathers fluttering around beside him. He ignored Hilla for a while, sending card-turned-arrows into the necks of the surrounding troops, feeling his strength return as he drained the life from their bodies.

The bleeding didn't stop. He'd been hit by magic, he surmised. The pain was spreading to his midriff too, not a good sign.

'Phantom!' shrieked Hilla, as the ground shook again. Smoke flew up just a street away.

He whirled around as wind picked up like a hurricane, whipping up his cape like the waves of a storming ocean. He fluidly brought his hand to the bowstring as four feathery wings spread out behind him.

Hilla growled, she was battered and bleeding from countless scratches. 'Threatening me with the same light show again? You're no angel, no upright man.'

'I can be, if I wanted to,' he snarled, trying to take aim on the rapidly darting commander.

A rumble echoed beside him. Dust flew into the air, a crack racing horizontally across the middle of a blackened skyscraper.

He didn't waste time letting loose the arrows, feeling the energy surge out him and out his bow, countless gleaming shafts in a second.

Hilla lunged, leaping clean above the steady stream of arrows, taking aim.

Phantom tensed, ready to deflect an attack. He twitched involuntarily, the torn muscles on his shoulder screaming from the movement.

Hilla saw, smiled, and took off down a nearby alleyway. She wasn't going to get far, not with the Master Thief on her tracks. He wouldn't let her. Phantom spat blood and raced forward, raising a card to cut her escape before he lost sight of her.

The card he loosed from his fingers took of a lock of her hair and embedded itself firmly into the charred concrete before erupting in a blaze of fire and smoke.

'Missed me, Master Thief!' Hilla's voice, high and mocking, was clear over the throbbing of his head.

'Come back here and face me, coward!' Phantom spat, sprinting headfirst into the smoke.

The air didn't clear.

So much smoke? From his one card? No… His magic didn't usually…

Deep purple jaws of fire snapped at him, singing his clothes. He snarled and leaped out of the way, Hilla's unholy power sending a shockwave in all directions, making the alleyway shudder.

The fierce rocking snatched Phantom's feet out from under him. He threw out his arms for impact, but the searing pain of his wound made his elbow buckle beneath his weight, sending him sprawling in a small smear of his own blood.

He barely heard his own grunt of pain over the groaning of the building beside him. He looked up as the smoke faded just enough to reveal a growing shadow, and then further up to see a concrete facade and broken windows racing towards him.

Time slowed, moved in slow motion, but he couldn't move, couldn't think, couldn't react to the building looming closer and closer

and closer

and

one last despairing thought flickered across his mind —

_No_.

— before the thunder of heavy concrete slamming against the ground drowned out everything else.


	7. History

Whenever it was time for his ward to die, Freud couldn't approach them, teleportation or not. There might as well have been a magical barrier around the scene of his death, with the way every bit of him screamed out not to approach, or risk fainting in midair.

And that was how Freud ended up watching Phantom surge to his death in the fires of Kerning City.

He thought he might've stood a chance for one last warning when Phantom scaled the metal body of the crane, and swooped as close as he could stand to go, hollering and threatening and begging for Phantom to _please_ get down from there. But when Phantom caught sight of Hilla he vaulted off the crane, disappeared, and only reappeared in the thick of the fray.

To Phantom, Freud was out of earshot, out of sight, out of mind.

Anxiously, he tracked Phantom's progress around the winding maze of the city. The pointed raven beak and the white cape fluttered and swirled, head and body of an elegant creature that left a path of bloodied soldiers and decapitated demons in its wake.

Flashes of color marked their clashes, sky blue against bloody crimson, soft pink rose petals. Every other hero was a distance away, engrossed in their own battles, lighting the twilight battlefield in splashes of their own power.

The rumbling made Freud's head hurt, made his chest ache.

He turned away from the angels hovering around the battlefield. Those were the angels of the victors. Instead he glanced at the angels confined on his side of the barrier. They looked painfully calm, and he shuddered at the way they treated a human death as part and parcel of angel life — and shuddered again at the knowledge that he might've looked like that at one point or another.

'He's going to die,' Freud said weakly, 'He's really going to die.'

'Yeah,' said another angel to his right, slightly bemused. 'They all do, sooner or later.'

'Part of the job,' shrugged another.

Freud pressed as near as he dared, heart pounding.

He felt the shockwave from the explosion, shielding his eyes momentarily from the glare. Purple flames engulfed a skyscraper then, licking up the sides and cracking glass surfaces. His eyes fell on a protruding spike of metal, part of the building's ruined backbone, that jutted out at the perfect angle to spear through Phantom's torso. There was a broken groan as the building leaned forward.

The raven cap tilted upwards in recognition, but its owner didn't move.

Freud felt resignation washed over him.

It wasn't his — it was Phantom's.

'No,' snarled Freud.

The skyscraper was probably thirty storeys high, and weighed far more than any truck, or sword he'd have to manipulate, but he was a guardian and he was going to remain Phantom's guardian even if it cost him something great.

He reached out and wrapped air around the falling building, squeezing the flames back into the broken windows, holding the skyscraper up.

The shouts and screams of enraged angels around him didn't distract him in the least.

_Come on, Phantom, move your sorry self,_ he swore and gritted his teeth. There was only so much he could hold, and for so long. The building sagged even in his grip and Freud let out a cry as it strained against the mental hold he'd had around it.

Phantom didn't budge.

Why wouldn't Phantom move? Freud groaned, partly in frustration and partly in the sheer exhaustion that was overwhelming him. Maybe it was that stupid human saying that "time moved in slow motion" when one was about to die… Freud swore again.

'Stay back,' he snarled at an angel who looked as if she was going to stop him.

'You can't do this,' she looked utterly disgusted.

Freud tuned out the roars of agreement and focused, the building growing infinitely heavier in his grip. The crooked, rusty metal spike loomed closer still. _Phantom, please_…

The pain raced down his chest, making him shudder, making his vision go hazy. Even if the building hadn't yet collapsed, Phantom's wound was slowly killing him, and even Freud didn't know how he was going to make it.

The least he could do was help Phantom win this battle.

With the last of his energy he twisted the building clean from its metal skeletal joints and flipped it onto its side, crushing the Black Wings and skeleton soldiers that were about to round the corner and meet the bleeding thief in the alleyway. Concrete thundered against the ground, the sound muffled over the pounding in his ears.

The angels on the ground whirled to shriek their protest but Freud ignored them all. His Phantom had to live, it was the only way he'd —

Another contingent was about to meet Phantom. If the wound didn't kill him, they would. Freud wondered subconsciously if Phantom had passed out from the pain, what with the way he stayed slumped against the floor like that, head bowed to meet his demise.

Stupid, stupid Phantom. Freud realised his job wasn't over and he searched for the other flashes of light, ignoring the purple flames that marked Hilla's passage through the city, and focused instead on Luminous.

'You can't,' gasped another angel, coming up behind him. 'I want Luminous to live too, but they're not supposed to —'

'They want to win this battle, Lucia.' Freud only spared her a backward glance before he tugged at the crane, making the entire frame groan and howl in protest before it thudded squarely across the entire battlefield, crushing half the troops. Panting and shaking his head to clear his vision from stars, he watched Luminous catch sight of the retreating commander and bark something at Aran and Mercedes.

Mercedes gave chase, driving Hilla away with gleaming arrows, while the two remaining heroes cleared the field for the Knights to take control. At last, the reinforcements raced forward, cutting down any other demon in sight and taking hostage of whichever Black Wing they could get their hands on.

The two snowy-haired heroes threaded through the ruined city and came up to Phantom, and Freud heaved a sigh of overwhelming relief just as Phantom sagged into their hands.

The ache in his chest didn't go away.

A ragged cry came up from the knights, shouts that the island was secure again, and Mercedes swooped back, announcing proudly that Hilla had fled.

Before Freud could move another feather, the angels around him grabbed his arms. He didn't struggle or protest as they opened a portal and poured back into Aether.

'Fate and Destiny want to see you,' someone murmured to him, but the thought didn't usually terrify him like it usually did. While the blinding pain in his chest didn't fade and maybe Phantom wouldn't make it, for once there was peace in his heart knowing that Phantom's world might.

And that was how Freud paid for victory in the battle Phantom was supposed to have lost.

:

* * *

:

They marched him straight into the conference hall. He kept his eyes straight ahead, ignoring the indignant shouts and venomous glares shot at him.

He'd done a great wrong, but he couldn't let Phantom die.

Destiny met him at the entrance. With a wave of her hand, she motioned for the crowd to disperse, and regarded Freud's gaze coolly.

'This Phantom character,' she contemplated, 'He's bad news, you know?'

_For you_, thought Freud, but he gave no reply.

It was only after the muttering of the crowd had ceased that he finally heard his own heart, pounding hard as the little girl lifted her hand to push the doors open.

Freud had made his choice, and now he was going to face the repercussions. He didn't regret it - and he intended to let Fate know that.

He strode in with his head high, eyes impassive, and face completely emotionless. Fate was sitting at the head of the conference table, fingers tented, his jet black pupils so intensee they sent a chill down Freud's spine.

The Archangel had opted to keep his natural form, the six wings folded behind him, each feather tipped with the darkest shade of black Freud had ever seen. Destiny was the purest white, representing hope; Fate was the shadow cast by this light, what things actually were. The bitter side to humankind.

'Angel Freud,' he murmured, holding his gaze evenly as Freud came up to him. 'I'll cut straight to the point. Why did you do it?'

Freud found his throat dry, and for once all the words eluded him.

'Actually, I'm not very interested in why you did it.' Fate stood. He crossed the great hall and Destiny stepped aside to let him pass.

_How contradictory_, mused Freud. He had to tilt his head to meet the taller angel's gaze.

'I'm more interested in what you've done. See this?' Fate gestured to the floor.

At once, swirling patterns, symbols, figures, words appeared on the ground, ink on canvas. 'This is the entire history of mankind,' said Fate fondly. Freud couldn't help the wonder from leaking into his expression as he took in the immensity of the ink tapestry before him.

'Of course, some prominent benchmarks… the rise of agriculture, there. Further on is the rise of the town, the city, and civilisation. Plumbing, electricity…'

Freud let Fate's finger guide his gaze, a strange thirst that made him drink in the information he'd been given.

'… the rise of the three transcendents.' Fate pointed. 'Light, time, and life. The start of Ereve's lineage. The first bricks of Orbis. The fall of the transcendent of Light, the death of the one of life… The five heroes' birth —' Freud's ears pricked and he studied the five orbs, one blue, white, yellow, purple, red — 'their battle, their downfall.'

Fate fell silent, contemplating the canvas beneath them.

'Why are you telling me this?' Freud murmured. He knew Fate was just tempting him, leading down a path.

As he'd always been doing to the History of man.

'Ah, you see, Freud…' Fate strode forward and came to a rest. It was the final appearance of a purple and a white orb. 'We're here right now. Phantom's death. And Luminous too, actually, that's why Lucia was with you, no? … But that's beyond the point. I'm only interested in you and your ward right now.'

'I see.'

'No, you don't.' Fate turned around and smiled. 'You don't see anything past your three hundred years of existence, dear Freud. It took the entire tapestry to lead up to this point, and a single minute to ruin my plans.'

Yes, _Fate_'s plans, because he'd always been manipulating humanity so.

'Why do you think so many wars occur, Freud?' Fate folded his arms and contemplated the small purple dot. 'Wars between good and bad always occur, don't they? See, wars are but ways to balance good and evil.'

'If Phantom lost the battle, evil would have triumphed,' murmured Freud.

'Exactly.' Fate looked surprised. 'You speak as if it wasn't supposed to be.'

'Isn't it not? Hilla, the commanders, the Black Mage, they've brought too much terror -'

'And it is exactly what their purposes are,' said Destiny. 'It has already been pre-decided.'

'There must always be a balance of good and bad in the world,' said Fate, his dark eyes roving across the black stains that were always at odds with the whites. 'I only ensure that this balance still leaves humans left for the world.'

'It would be easier if you made the Black Mage fall.' Freud glared at a golden and black smudge in the center of the floor.

'That are what the heroes will ensure, at their own pace, should it be predetermined,' smiled Fate. 'Look at the most recent event again, Freud.'

Carefully keeping the disapproval from his face, he edged forward and studied the markings of the latest battle. What used to be gentle swirls of color became jarring stabs here and there, splutters and random lines that veered horrifically off tangent from their original course.

'This is _your_ handiwork,' Fate sighed. 'You've made a mess. Upset everything that has been building up to this moment. Centuries of history, all undone because of _you_.'

'People who were destined to live have died,' Destiny met his eyes coldly. 'Killed by your own hand, all because of your selfishness —'

Fate held up a hand. He studied Freud, and Freud almost shivered with the way his gaze reached into his very core.

'I don't know what your intention was,' he said, a scornful little smile on his face, 'But winning the battle doesn't mean you'll win the war.'

He pointed and the tapestry unravelled further, the awkward marks that Freud had made elongating, clashing with each other, the black smudges fading away to naught, before everything was just clear white.

'Things are still uncertain there,' murmured Fate, 'But the one thing is for sure. From our perspective, even the good will turn against the good at some point, upsetting the balance in the world.'

'Let me put it this way. You might've prevented the rise of a new hero,' snapped Destiny, 'Or the fall of a commander.'

'All I'm saying is this: Phantom is making you try to rewrite the future,' said the Archangel, his gaze too piercing to meet. 'And we can't let that happen.'

'But he hasn't done anything to you —'

'He's made _you_ act in this absurd manner,' growled Fate, one of his wings unfurled in a silent threat.

Freud closed his mouth and bit back his retort.

'Not only that, he's unravelled my plans and my painting…' sighed Fate, his expression back to normal, the menacing shadow under his eyes gone. 'What am I going to do…'

'It's simple,' said Destiny as Fate sighed at his ruined histories. 'If Phantom is the source of all this —'

'You can't kill him,' interrupted Freud, making Fate look up in surprise. 'It'll be against the law, won't it? Angels can't harm a human being.'

'You've already broken it many, many times,' chuckled Fate.

Freud's heart sank then. It had only just dawned on him that while the angels were happy to sacrifice wards in the name of History… Freud had been more than willing to kill innocent lives to keep Phantom alive.

The throbbing in his chest intensified, making breathing difficult.

'No, we're not that cruel yet. Since Phantom is making you act irrationally, you simply won't be his guardian angel any longer.'

'What?' Freud choked out hoarsely, 'You, you can't —'

'We can, especially if it affects the lives of so many others.' Destiny stared him into silence.

Fate scuffled the careless marks on the ground. 'You're relieved from duty, Freud. And I'll have to reset the day, too much has gone wrong.'

'Are you sure?' Destiny turned to the archangel. 'You know how the other angels will react…'

'It's the only way to pacify them, Destiny. After what our friend there has done…'

Freud couldn't hear the rest of it. He slumped to the ground, a sudden ache in his chest. Phantom, his only remaining key to his past, wasn't going to be his ward any longer?

Would Phantom be able to remember him at all? More importantly… would Phantom even see him again?

Maybe not… and what would he do then?

'You can't,' Freud pleaded, 'Please, archangel, I'll find a way to fix this, just don't reset time —'

The words turned to ashes in his mouth as Fate turned slowly to him. The archangel's wings were spread, the black-tipped feathers dragging along the ground, though they left no mark behind them.

Fate's voice was dangerously soft.

'I will not have another word out of you, Freud. You've cost me and Destiny too much. You should know better that the fate of humankind cannot rest solely on a single man's shoulders, much less an angel's selfish whims.'

Freud felt himself being lifted up on his feet by the archangel's mental grip, as if he weighed nothing more than a feather in the sheer power that enveloped him.

'Am I understood?'

He averted his eyes.

'Yes, Archangel.'

'Good.'

The archangel set him down and turned back to the painting. With a wave of his hand, the horrid marks that Freud made vanished.

The searing pain faded from his chest, only to be replaced by another kind, a sad pining.

Fate glanced at him. 'You may take your leave.'

His quarters held no solace for him. Surely there was something he could've done, something he could've said that might have been able to change the Archangel's mind. Didn't Phantom say that the Dragon Master could persuade just about anyone?

Why wasn't he able to then?

Freud realised that he missed Phantom. He missed Phantom dearly. The man was a comforting presence that filled something inside him, made him _real_, made him _human_. And there was definitely something deeper, an unconscious reason why he had been pining for Phantom's company so.

His frazzled thoughts settled on Phantom's glass display and its worn metal headband, its cracked staff.

He had to see Phantom again, one way or another.

Hurriedly, he summoned all the power he had left. With a finger, he traced a circle in the air and muttered Phantom's name, concentrating on his features.

The brightness of Aether faded and to reveal a portal leading straight to Phantom's room.

:

* * *

:

_Red everywhere. _

_Hungry tongues of flame, flowing locks of fiery hair, a bloodied sky, a hand coated in crimson. A piercing laugh, howls of pain._

_A calm voice beside him. _

'_Maybe you're right, you know.'_

_A blurry figure, odd whiteness pooling around him, fanning out on either side and raining onto his carpet. That smile, that voice._

_Those eyes. _

'_Hmm?'_

_The words were cut off by a groan to his right, smoke and purple flames billowed across his vision and he fought his way forward. The darkness didn't end._

'_Only a Dragon Master can unlock it,' said a tiny little Freud, his red cloak and red scarf and tousled hair faintly visible through the snowstorm, 'When their reflection appears, the seal weakens for a while.'_

'_I'm not a Dragon Master.'_

_In the snow, watercolor smudges began to form. Beige, blue, brown -_

'_He looks like he could do with more sleep.'_

'_And?'_

_Marks began to take shape, chiselled into every snowflake whirling around him. Circular, coiling insignias._

'_I'm thinking.'_

'_Freud didn't need that long to think.'_

_The wind cleared and he faintly heard the mighty swoosh of feathered wings._

'_Neither was he an angel.'_

Phantom sat up in bed, panting hard.

What… what was that? What an odd dream… He groaned and clutched at his chest, hurriedly pulling it away and was slightly surprised to see it come away clean. He was back in his room, which somehow didn't smell like steak or chicken or fries, why was he expecting that of all things?

For some odd reason, he ached everywhere. It felt like he had fought a rough and intense battle and was only now feeling the strain in his muscles.

He groaned again. Damn, his forehead hurt… Did he bruise it somehow?

Someone knocked on the door. It was mid-morning… who would come by so early - no, he felt deja vu creeping up on him.

'Evan?' he called out hesitantly.

A prepubescent voice squeaked at him from the other side of the door. 'S-Sir Phantom, Mir and I —'

'Don't come in,' he roared, pulling the covers closer to himself. 'And clean yourself.'

'O-o-okay,' came the stuttering reply, and then silence.

Phantom shook his head to clear it. Then he clambered out of bed, walked over to the crystal dragon, which was somehow dull — he'd have to polish it, but somehow it felt like it wouldn't change a thing — tilted it, and strode down the stairs.

'You won't believe it, Freud.'

The headband and the staff didn't respond.

They never had.

'I had the weirdest dream… I dreamed…' Phantom laughed, leaning against the glass. 'What an odd dream. I dreamed that you were back protecting me as an angel… Everything's getting fuzzy, but I'm quite sure I saw your handsome face framed by beautiful, silky wings.'

The words sounded absurd.

Smiling, he turned to go back up the stairs. 'That would be nice, in a way… I miss your voice, even if you were nagging me half the time and scolding me the other half.'

Well, time for alcohol.

Phantom strode over to the alcohol cabinet, surprised to find his favorite bottle of wine still full. He shrugged. Ah, all for the better. He was in the midst of pouring himself a glass when he heard it.

'Freud!'

It was a loud roar, a man's voice, filled with anger and fury. One he'd never heard before.

But it had called…

He turned around and there was a flare of light so blinding that he blinked in reflex, and when he opened his eyes, it was gone.

That was odd… for a split second, he was sure he saw two figures, one with two wings and the other with dangerous black feathers.

The smaller angel had brown hair.

Phantom looked down at the wineglass in his hand, having gripped the fragile surface so hard in his shock that it had cracked, the golden liquid trickling down his fingers and arm, and sneered in distaste.

Maybe the alcohol had to stop… Phantom set the wineglass back on the alcohol cabinet.

But he wasn't seeing things. The crystal dragon was definitely glowing, a strange but familiar light illuminating it up from the inside, the most beautiful color he'd ever seen.

(Third most beautiful behind the color of Freud's eyes, and then behind the color of his hair.)

The light faded as Phantom came up to it. He drew his finger across the mantlepiece and scowled as the dust on his finger faded after a few seconds.

Had he seen all this before, in a dream? It felt like an entire lifetime ago, or maybe it could've only been yesterday.

_One could never tell with dreams_.

Could it possibly have been more than that?

A little part of Phantom wanted to believe that it could.

The rest of him told him it couldn't.

* * *

**A/N:**

And here's the other Archangel... and I'm done with the OC for this story /bangs head on wall

Snowyh2o: no way to pm you... but you were right ;) nice spotting there :D

**I need some help from you guys. Any particular fluff you'd like to see of Freud and Phantom before the war? Please do leave a review... I have a little something planned (_maybe_for one of the upcoming chapters, ehehe.) and I'd like to inject as much fluff as humanly possible so I need as many ideas as I can get. If not then... I'll just have to use my own, and what's the challenge in that?**

Have a good one everybody~

EDIT 23 Feb — SORRY FOR ALL THE TYPOS I've fixed them uwu and oh yeah, in this arc, everyone you know is dead, like Lucia (because I don't understand the mechanics for Lucia being reincarnated as Lania. So I just left it as she died :X) okay that is all.


	8. Grudges

It was only after Destiny and Fate had spent a few more hours pouring over the ever changing painting when it finally dawned on him.

Phantom had to die.

The thought was a chill that emanated from the depths of his gut, echoed up his spine and chilled him to the core.

_Maybe this is what the humans fear about the cold, _mused Freud,_ the way it eats them up inside._

He stumbled back to his quarters, that seeping cold still tingling his skin, and sagged against the wall.

He missed Phantom. He wanted Phantom with him.

Where would Phantom go if he died?

The thought that with Hilla's attack, Phantom and everything Freud needed to find out about himself, everything would be lost in time. He would have failed as Phantom's guardian angel.

Most of all, he'd have failed the Dragon Master, who died to save Phantom.

The thought made something churn inside him. His stomach convulsed and the sour, bitter leftovers from his first (and perhaps last) meal emptied out onto Aether's pristine, sanctified ground.

Just after he managed to clean himself up, his blonde-haired friend came by with a new envelope. It was white, flecked with gold on the edges.

'I heard about what you did down there yesterday,' she sighed as Freud took the slip of paper from her hands. 'Very reckless of you.'

'You would've done the same too if —' Freud bit back his words at the last moment. _If you had something you were looking for_, he almost wanted to say.

She merely chuckled, the notes of her voice like a tinkling stream. 'Oh, Freud. If I knew what love was, I might've done the same.'

So she thought it was love… the perfect cover for his true intentions. 'I'm surprised you _don't_ know,' he deadpanned, flipping open the envelope to scan the name and the details of his next ward. 'You talk as if you're the queen of the world.'

'And you talk like you've committed a sin,' she fixed him with two sky-blue eyes. 'The Freud I know wouldn't do irrational things like that without purpose.'

He contemplated telling her, felt his knuckles tighten. It was a weight on his chest, an uncomfortable mass, the knowledge that the one person he'd ever cared about was going to die and yet was powerless in the way of what ought to be.

'He's going to die,' he finally gritted out. 'And there are still things I don't know.'

'About what?'

Freud shook his head. 'I can't tell you… but it's very important.'

She raised an eyebrow.

'To me,' he clarified. 'And to Phantom.'

'And to a certain Dragon Master whose memory you tried to steal from Destiny?' she chuckled.

Freud blinked. Word sure spread fast.

'Yes…' Freud averted his eyes. 'And if Phantom dies, I have nothing left.'

'Well, that's why angels weren't supposed to know anything in the first place,' she murmured, patting his tightened hand in silent comfort. 'We can't have anything temporal if we're timeless.'

'But I can't go back to the way it was before, Aria.' He exhaled quietly. 'What am I to do when Phantom dies?'

There was silence as she contemplated his dilemma.

'A theory seems to suggest that the Empress of Phantom's time was the reason why he joined the heroes against the Black Mage.'

The abrupt change of topic surprised him, but he merely raised an eyebrow before playing along.

'A theory?' Freud chuckled. 'Reading bedtime stories on the job, Aria?'

She chuckled, ignoring him. 'You'd be interested in it, though.'

'Oh?'

'It was Freud's theory.'

Freud closed his eyes, thinking about the blonde man and his deep purple eyes, the way he seemed so desperate to get Freud to _remember_, the way he fought for what he held dear to him, the way he nearly went berserk trying to defend the Empress's reputation.

'Phantom did seem quite close to her,' he mused. 'But for Freud to actually find out that much about him…'

'Quite a feat, isn't it?' Aria laughed.

'But the Dragon Master was quite the intellectual anyway.' He smiled. The way it was, it seemed that Freud and Phantom knew each other inside out, their motivations, their ambitions.

Now he knew better.

He had been playing his cards wrongly, right from the beginning. Phantom wasn't there to _walk_ him down the Dragon Master's history. Phantom had always _been _a significant part of it.

So Freud needed to _understand_ Phantom in order to understand the Dragon Master.

The words of Fate and Destiny echoed in his mind, the thought of that ruined tapestry, his new ward… Truly, he wanted to learn about Phantom, but there was too much at stake.

His discomfort must have shown, because Aria was patting him on the arm. 'Something is telling me to encourage you by talking about sacrifice and dreams, but I wouldn't know much about them, now would I.'

'And why not?'

Aria held up the stack of envelopes in her hands. 'I am but a messenger. You're but a mercenary. And Destiny and Fate… they're just there to make sure nothing changes.'

Freud chuckled quietly, 'I know, Aria. And this myopia is stifling.'

'I think the same, Freud, but what are we to do?' She took his hand and clasped it firmly. Freud found no comfort in the gesture. 'Sometimes we need to give things up for a greater good, even if we have no idea what it will amount to in the future.'

'There is no future in thinking that way,' Freud tucked the envelope in the folds of his robe.

Aria's eyes softened. 'Ah, that was what they said about Cygnus's predecessor too… but look where that brought the world. Her death wasn't in vain.'

'You don't think so?' Freud turned to her, studying her soft blue eyes.

'I have a hunch.' She chuckled. 'You see, if I were in the Empress's shoes right now, I'd say it was pretty close to what she'd dreamed of, a long time ago.'

'The Black Mage, rising again? Those commanders wrecking havoc? People dying left, right, center?'

Aria laughed. 'Of course not. The dream is in having upright people like Phantom, Cygnus, the other Heroes, the Knights… people like them, leading the cause for good. And for individuals like you, who might not be able to change the world at all, and yet still try their best.'

'How idealistic,' murmured Freud, after they had exchanged their goodbyes and she had left to deliver the rest of the envelopes. Somehow he felt that, in another life (his previous life?), he'd commented the same thing to someone else as well.

He spent the last of his time as Phantom's guardian trying to memorise the way Phantom's thoughts felt inside his mind.

A few hours before sunrise, Freud got up and headed to the main square. He ignored the side glances and dirty looks with an uncanny ease, and settled on the golden steps, waiting. The skies were bright — they were always bright here in Aether — and a part of him wished that there was a distinction between night and day here.

'Freud.'

He got up at the flat voice, turning around to face another angel. The previous angel of the ward he was supposed to guard — the angel who would from now on guard Phantom.

'I heard about the battle,' the blonde commented dryly. 'That took guts, Freud.'

Freud didn't miss the scathing notes in his voice.

'Tell me, Freud.' The uninterested gaze roved up and down, studying him. 'Would you risk something like that for your new ward?'

The question was blunt and its intentions clear:_ are you going to be a reckless fool and sacrifice things in the name of your selfishness… again?_

'No,' said Freud.

'Don't lie to me, scum.' The young man strode up to him, uncomfortably close. His left eye, smoky and twilight-tinted and unhidden by his fringe, spoke of deep anger, regret, and revenge. 'You're only guarding my ward because the Archangels ordered it. I don't trust you at all.'

Freud met his gaze evenly. 'You seem to be attached to your ward a fair bit.'

The dusk pupil widened slightly in surprise before narrowing. 'What does it mean to you, huh? Keep your feathers out of my damn business!'

'I hold no grudges with you,' Freud murmured gently.

'Well I do,' hissed the angel, 'Your Phantom tried to kill my ward's brother, defenseless as he was.'

'That was a trap. He _used_ Phantom to commit a grave sin,' stated Freud. 'But I do not blame you.'

He sneered. 'Rest assured, damn angel, I don't blame _you_. Phantom, however…'

'If you guard Phantom with any less dedication than how you guarded Orchid —'

'You'll what?' smirked Lotus. 'What can you do to me? Besides, as long as he dies the right way, I'd have committed no sin.'

Freud ignored him and raised his right hand, extending it for Lotus to take. The blonde smirked bitterly and clasped it in his. The presence of Phantom in his mind faded, replaced with another new aura. One that felt tired, worn out, weary.

When the exchange was complete, Lotus flung his hand away as if it was a snake.

'Ooh,' smiled Lotus, bringing his hand to his chest. Freud knew the slight throbbing he was feeling, a little too well. 'So this is how he dies.'

Freud didn't let his disgust show. 'A bolt of magic to his chest, and then a skewer through the heart.'

'Did it hurt?' snickered Lotus.

'Very much.'

'Good,' his eye twinkled.

'He only has until mid-afternoon,' said Freud evenly, 'At least give him dignity until then.'

Lotus barked out a laugh. 'Rest assured… I won't stoop down to your level. Besides, seeing him go is revenge enough for me.'

With a final contemptuous scoff, Lotus sauntered away. Freud watched him go, his brow slightly furrowed.

Lotus was someone controlled easily by his emotions, as much as he tried to hide it… But whatever it was, under his care, Phantom was definitely going to die now. Lotus wouldn't have any qualms about that. Freud rubbed his temples and turned to go back to his quarters.

There was always another way out. He just needed to think of one.

Freud didn't entertain the nagging voice in his mind that said he was simply in denial.

:

* * *

:

The girl lying in bed breathed shallowly, her eyes half open and glazed over. Her gaze had trained on him immediately once he materialised in her room, but she had neither moved nor responded when he waved a hand or asked her questions. The poor girl was probably still fighting the vestigial hallucinations that came with the trauma she'd just received.

He turned so he wouldn't have to look into those empty, soulless eyes.

The room she was in looked like a bunker, a makeshift infirmary of some sort, boarded up with metal panels and only barely furnished. The dark, depressing mood would do peanuts in improving the morale of rebels that were sent here. He grimaced at the medical equipment, left exposed to the grimy air instead of being kept away.

The rebel base in Edelstein was far less well-equipped than he imagined.

Well, the good thing out of all this was that there were no blinding pains stabbing him anywhere. Orchid wasn't going to die today.

He spent the next hour thinking about her brother's sheer power, strong enough to possess even Phantom. She had to have at least a fraction of that power. Whatever had been done to her must have had been absolutely terrifying.

Was Phantom responsible for the way she'd turned out?

There was no way to know if the sun had already risen, until a slim, masked individual glided into the room. She was almost painfully thin, and her face was stunning if not for the way stress and worry had hacked shadows under her eyes and behind her cheekbones.

'Darling, how are you feeling today?' She perched herself on the chair beside the bed, her gaunt face lighting up in the kindness that radiated from her as she held up a bowl, spooning clear broth into Orchid's slack mouth.

'I wish you'd tell us what happened to you. We'd help you out no matter what. You know that.'

She continued gently talking to the girl, unfazed by her unwavering silence.

'Hmm…' She had her hand around the limp wrist, fingers on the pulse. 'Your heart rate is up pretty high… and you're looking paler than yesterday —'

'Claudine?' A young lady dressed in hunter's garb peeped around the door. 'Old Ferdi wants to know if you're done with that report.'

The thin woman called Claudine sighed and brushed a thumb across a dribble of soup down Orchid's chin. 'What report? He knows all the details already.'

'Yah, you know how _he_ is.' She stepped in and leaned on the doorframe, regarding the unresponsive form in the bed with unmasked pity. 'Jeez. Looking at her gives me the creeps.'

'Belle!' Claudine hushed her. 'She can hear you.'

'Well she's got no name. No voice, too.' Belle averted her eyes.

'Her condition's going to worsen if you don't watch your tongue,' Claudine murmured. 'She looks agitated too, for some reason.'

'The usual. Nightmares. Hallucinations. Gone cuckoo —'

'Why don't you make yourself helpful and get me some pen and paper?' Claudine shot her a glare. 'Instead of just —'

Belle held out an envelope, cutting her off. 'Yah, well, I've gone and done that report already. You're too thinly spread as it is.'

There was sheer relief in Claudine's eyes as she took the envelope and wedged it under small lamp by Orchid's bedside. 'Thank you, Belle. I'm sorry I snapped at you… You're one of the best friends —'

'Shh,' Belle held out a finger. 'You're Claudine the cool. Good reputation. Strong and stoic leader. As little mush as possible. Capiche?'

Claudine smiled, eyes softening. 'Capiche. I'll just sign this report and… wait, where—?'

'Huh? Weird of you to lose things. 'specially since I _just gave_ it to you!'

'I swear I just set it down, right here. Maybe it fell onto the floor…'

The last few specks of dust faded from the table and Orchid closed her eyes.

:

* * *

:

Phantom clutched the report in his trembling fingers, jaws gritted.

The Black Wing's base in Edelstein was stormed… and they had rescued a girl who had long, blonde hair, and twilight eyes, soulless and empty like the night.

The description unnerved him.

_It was the ghastly green light that enveloped the chamber, the floating lifeless body suspended in viscous fluid, the shrill laughter that echoed in his mind all the way to Ereve, the twitching of his muscles as he raised his cane… _

Phantom tilted his head back and drew in a deep, shaky breath to calm himself and ward off the image of Lotus, peacefully asleep, his locks of dirty gold hair and his face free of pain.

Past the details of the girl's rescue (capture?), there was a handwritten note, in perfect and familiar handwriting, the loops deft and precise:

_She is Orchid, and her twin brother is Lotus. If you seek revenge, come at once. _

_- F_

This was the sole good news he'd gotten since Aria's death. Of her two killers, one was as useful as a weed, the other — no, fuck that, they were both useless vegetables now. One comatose, and one too traumatised to speak.

This was revenge, served deliciously cold, atop a silver platter with matching silver cutlery.

Phantom got dressed within seconds, the cane a comfortable weight in his hand as he headed down to the bridge. Impassively he watched the clouds rush by, trails of vapor like milk smeared across the air where his ship brushed past them.

Maybe Orchid's death would ease the empty pining inside him. He unfolded the note and scanned it, committing the details to memory, memorizing the route he needed to take to get into the deep recesses of the rebel base.

But that handwritten note bothered him. He chalked it down to its pretentious signature, unable to place why the handwriting looked so familiar.

_F? Who the fuck was F?_

He scoffed.

Who did he think he was?

Freud?

* * *

**A/N:**

**I still need to call for fluff after every chapter XD if not then I'll satisfy myself (cough, not that way) with my own fluff :P**

OK some explanation is needed... I wanted F to know about P but in another way so I just called it a "Theory". No idea what theory it is (no actually, I do, it's in reference to a very famous piece out there *shot*)

And just to those wondering, if I didn't make it clear enough, Lotus and Aria aren't "sentient" like Freud. I just like to think that deja vu would creep up on them time to time.

Here it is~


	9. The heist

Claudine and Belle hadn't finished their search before shouts and yells floated down from outside. Freud glanced at Orchid, who's eyes were still vacant and faraway, before turning his attention to the door.

'... can't come in here—'

'Well, I'm sorry then, but I absolutely must insist.'

That was a familiar voice…

Freud's heart leapt.

'Stop! You're not authorised! Some… somebody get him!'

Claudine narrowed her eyes as something shattered into a million pieces and someone let out a frustrated yell.

'Oh, what is it now…'

'Haven't a clue who it is,' growled Belle, leaping to her feet and drawing her bow. The hissing and snarling of a rather large cat joined the fray as she sprinted for the stairs. 'Strangers aren't welcome here.'

'I'll go check —'

'Brighton and Elex should be able to handle whoever it is,' Belle sat her down again.

Something made the floor tremble.

'Belle,' Claudine hissed.

The winged form of Lotus floated into the room. His eye glared bloody murder through frazzled hair and Freud could only shrug innocently.

Phantom burst in moments later, sending Belle tumbling down the stairs.

His eyes swept the room before falling on the still form in bed.

'Finally,' he smiled, and strode forward.

'What have you done this time?' snarled Lotus at Freud, as he hovered protectively in the space between Phantom and Orchid. 'Isn't one fuck up enough, Freud?'

'I just need him to be here so I could talk to him —'

'He thinks _she_ killed Aria!' shrieked Lotus, raw ire in his features as Phantom brushed Claudine aside. He dipped down to hover in front of Phantom, screaming, 'Stay back, you beast! Fucking imbecile!'

Phantom merely walked right through him like he wasn't there, coming to a stop in front of the bed. His cane was out, twirling in his hands.

Orchid's eyes fluttered.

At that moment a searing pain shot through Freud's chest, a stab of pain through his heart. It was the way Orchid would die. He swore. If Phantom were to lay a single hand on her, history would be re-written and gods knows what would happen then.

He had planned to goad Phantom into coming here… but not on this premise. He'd thought Phantom merely had a grudge on the twins because they nearly made him kill Cygnus.

'Truce?' he chuckled weakly to Lotus as Phantom shot a bolt of air back at the Resistance leaders, and raised his cane for the killing blow.

Lotus roared. 'Just don't let her fucking die!'

Freud weakened the blows from Phantom's jabbing cane, dissipating the power as a battle mage with a strange aura dashed up, locking weapons with Phantom. He had to grunt to deflect flying cards and paper ravens, the effort wearing him down even more.

He'd rather be on Phantom's side than having to defend from his attacks.

'We need to interrogate her first,' growled the battle mage, somehow having the speed and technique with his rapidly swinging staff, to block Phantom's attacks and return parries of his own.

'Get out of my way!' snarled Phantom. Freud caught the slight hesitation and surprise, as if he was unsure about the mage's strange magic. 'All I want is the girl.'

'And we can't let you have your way.' Belle slid between them. A black panther lunged at Phantom at an inhuman speed, fastening teeth around his cane and growling.

Phantom's eyes narrowed and with a strength borne out of pure anger, thrust the panther aside. 'I'm sorry, then. I don't play by your rules.'

A brown stuffed bear toddled up and Phantom gave him a condescending look, which was quickly retracted when he was staring down the barrels of multiple turrets. Phantom vaulted away and managed to dodge the bullets, the Resistance heads somehow managing to maneuver Phantom away from the bed.

The world spun. Phantom's voice sent spears through his skull and he dropped to the ground with a groan of pain, one hand pressed against his head. Everything was throbbing, the noise, the flashes of color…

Orchid's mouth had opened in a silent scream.

'Orchid!' yelled Lotus, and for the moment that he was distracted, Phantom took a blow to the temple from the battle mage's staff, and crumpled against the wall, lifeless.

'Phantom,' gasped Freud.

'Shit, shit!' Lotus whirled around, eyes unfocused, his hand clutched against his skull. 'This is all your doing, Freud —'

There was a fierce high-pitched ringing in his ears then, a shriek that drowned out Lotus's voice. He grimaced, ignoring the battle mage approaching the comatose thief, and turned to see Orchid, sitting up and staring straight at him.

Her lips moved.

At once, Freud struggled to his feet and grabbed Lotus by the hand. 'Lo… Lotus, change wards with me.'

'The fuck I'd do that for!' he gritted out, trying to pull his hand away.

Freud held on, tightening his grip so much that Lotus swore. 'She's calling for you. I don't think she knows you're her guardian, but —' he hissed as Orchid moved her lips. 'Just give me Phantom back.'

'O-Orchid?' Lotus's eyes widened.

'It's why she got worse today. You're not her guard—'

He wasted no time establishing the connection and they cried out again as a fresh bout of pain hit them.

Freud shook the confusion from his mind and slid in front of Phantom's unmoving form, spreading his hands. Not as if the Resistance heads could see him at all.

He concentrated.

A split second was all he needed to see Lotus, hovering in front of Orchid, concern all over his once-scowling face. And Orchid's face, softening and shaping into a smile.

_They looked so much like siblings, _Freud mused, allowing himself a chuckle before everything turned white.

:

* * *

:

His head throbbed.

… _trouble… if anyone… found… _

… _is… why… trust you…_

Two voices, the words melding into each other, words upon words of nothing.

… suicide… no good will come…

… please just this… one time…

There was a small, persistent ache on his head. He wanted to rub it. Maybe it would be better if he tried to get rid of the darkness around him first. But his eyes wouldn't open…

'… please yourself… please don't bring Phantom into this…'

'I need him more than you can imagine.'

Gods, it was blinding. Like staring into the surface of the sun!

Phantom shut his eyes and groaned, weakly raising an arm to shield himself from the blinding rays that were threatening to split his head in two.

His stomach convulsed. The air was different, thinner, lighter. Everything seemed to be moving, rocking about, a ship at sea, except that he was perhaps the best sailor out there (come on, he could sail the winds and the storms themselves!) and this was no ship.

_Why wasn't the light going away… _

'He's waking up,' said one of the voices. It was gentle, a voice that walked him through his dreams one time too many. 'Time for me to go.'

'Thank you. Truly, I do.' The other voice was slightly huskier, but still smooth, the kind of voice he'd want to hear bedtime stories from, til deep into the night.

'I know. Take care of him.'

'I will.'

With great effort, Phantom forced his eyes open. They stung and watered furiously but he blinked them all away. Everything was blur, fuzzy… but that face…

Everything slid into focus.

It was a familiar face. Warm chocolate brown fell down in gentle curls on his head. Highlighted in this golden, holy light, his locks glowed almost regally and brought out deep soothing tones of aquamarine in his eyes, the color of the sun filtering through a calm ocean.

And he missed the way they stared so deep into his eyes as if searching for the most beautiful thing his soul had to offer.

'Freud!' His head whirled and he sat up abruptly, gritting back the stab of pain in his temple and jerking forward to pull the man into a hug. It was too strange, one moment he was at Edelstein, blacking out at the last possible moment, and then the next moment he wasn't angry at all any more, and here was Freud, Freud — _alive_, feeling very real in his arms.

'Phantom,' murmured Freud. Phantom felt his arms hesitantly embrace him.

Gods, he'd only ever dreamed of hearing that voice.

'Freud,' he pulled back after a while. Words deserted him. He wanted to tell him everything, all the words were stuck in his throat. His dream, his revenge, his odd deja vu morning, his —

Freud had wings.

Phantom pulled back further, taking in the white robes and the silky feathers.

'You see correct,' smiled Freud. There was a trace of bitterness in his eyes. Or regret, was that regret?

Phantom held up a finger, hushing him.

'I'm still dreaming,' he beamed. 'That's it. That bloke Blighton must've struck me in the head and now I'm in _la la land_ and in this beautiful dream. And somehow, I've continued this morning's dream perfectly fine.'

Freud chuckled, unfolding one of his wings. Phantom eagerly reached for one, feeling the gentle feathers and the fibres running across his skin.

'No,' said Freud gently. 'You're right here with me. You're awake.'

Phantom laughed. 'Don't kid me, Freud. You're dead, how can I talk to you unless I'm dead or dreaming?'

'Well —'

'Wait,' hissed Phantom. He glared at Freud. 'I'm not dead, am I?'

'Phantom —'

'Because I'm not halfway done yet,' Phantom scowled. 'I haven't killed Lotus and Orchid, and I haven't killed the Black Mage once and for all —'

'_Phantom_,' Freud grasped his shoulders, waiting until Phantom had calmed down and was looking at him before continuing. 'Phantom… It's a little confusing, but I need you to trust me. Okay?'

'Oh, Freud. I'm probably the most loyal friend you have. That goes without saying,' purred Phantom. 'Now please tell me what's going on.'

Freud contemplated for a while.

Phantom let himself chuckle. It had been such a long time since he was able to poke fun at the mage, even if he had wings and was an angel. 'You got the letter…'

'I did.' Phantom rolled his eyes. 'Really, F?'

Freud merely smirked.

'And don't tell me that I did see Afrien all sealed up in ice, and that I fought Hilla before, because I, was, dreaming,' tutted Phantom, seeing the flicker of Freud's eyes to signify he was thinking. 'You won't get me that way.'

Freud shook his head. 'No, no. I was thinking something else… but never mind.'

Phantom raised an eyebrow.

'Seeing as how you just woke from a concussion… and you're stroking your ego rather than asking me where you are and what you're doing here, I'd say you can't pull it off anyway.'

His friend of many years knew just how to bait him. Phantom grinned. He'd take the bait even if he knew it was merely a lure. He loved making Freud's jaw drop with the lengths he'd go to prove someone wrong. How could he resist?

'Oh, those are all just formalities. The most important thing is the _challenge_..' Phantom smiled. 'I fear you might be underestimating my prowess.'

'But you're injured and —'

'Just tell me what _it _is,' deadpanned Phantom. 'If I win, I get a kiss on the cheek.'

Freud laughed. 'And what makes you think I'll give it to you?'

'Because I'm marvellous and I have good complexion. A perfect cheek to receive kisses on.'

'Ah, but what if I don't feel like kissing anyone today?'

'Ah, how you wound me, Freud… People would _pay_ to kiss my hand…'

Phantom found that he could stand without much help. Somehow the air here helped to clear his head pretty quickly. They were soon striding along countless gleaming corridors, polished so beautifully that they shone like walls he'd see in _heaven_.

Freud's painting would look stunning if he managed to coat the frame in this same gold.

Of course he'd buy it. (Nope.)

He wondered where he was. The walls extended up so high that it looked almost surreal. No ceiling could be this far away… it'd be a waste of space, too. Was this some kind of court? It reminded him of Chryse, those great pillars lining the walls, the vast courtyard, tiny figures flitting about with wings trailing behind them too.

There was a fountain in the middle of the courtyard spewing what looked like _silver_… and just beyond, a slim and slender figure, one he'd only seen in the finest blue silk robes, one that had met him on a balcony below a starry night —

'Phantom?'

He waved a hand in acknowledgement, trying to focus on that gentle, effeminate frame, but it only took a blink and a flash of light for her to vanish.

Freud was tilting his head.

'What's wrong?'

'Nothing,' he sighed, trudging forward again. 'Just an old dream… or a nightmare. Depends.'

Before long they came to a set of double doors so tall that Phantom felt small… like a toy, a plastic figurine.

He whistled softly, exhaling. An unlocked door meant that its owners were confident of keeping their stash for themselves.

'Afraid of a challenge?'

'Of course not,' grinned Phantom. 'It's just been a while since I've put my thieving skills to the test, but I'm sure I'll pull it off.'

'Sure you will.' Freud rolled his eyes. 'Now remember what you're here for…'

Phantom groaned. 'A crystal orb with your name on it. I get it.'

'And don't touch —

' — touch anything else,' Phantom repeated dryly. 'I get that too. I'm not daft, Freud.'

The angel smiled calmly, pushing the door slightly open. 'If you say so. Help yourself.'

Phantom grinned, cracked his knuckles, and slipped through the slight opening.

Then he stumbled to a halt, felt his jaw drop.

There was a finger beneath his chin pushing his mouth closed.

'I did say it was a tough one,' murmured Freud.

'Well, thanks for the crucial and invaluable heads up,' snapped Phantom.

Gods damn it all. Freud hadn't said there'd be _this_ many.

:

* * *

:

The problem about this strange new place was that there were no shadows to hide in.

Phantom realised that as the sound of footsteps echoed down the hallway outside. Freud didn't even need to glance at him to send him sprinting behind one of the shelves.

Voices echoed down the hallway, and through the glimmering crystal orbs, he caught sight of Freud pretending to inspect another one in the middle of the room.

So Freud was going to act as bait while Phantom stole along the shelves looking for his crystal orb. The footsteps drew nearer and Phantom was glad he still had his cane in his belt and his trusty deck of cards in his sleeve. He was in his element, armed with everything he needed to distract and misdirect.

He was edging down the corridors with one eye trained on the door when it opened.

A little girl entered the room, framed by two cute little wings.

'Archangel,' said Freud, bowing slightly. 'I didn't expect to see you here.'

'Freud. What a surprise. How is your new ward doing?' The young angel's voice was high-pitched and innocent, though Phantom heard dangerous notes that spoke of immeasurable power in her words.

Phantom stayed stock still, breathing softly, gently calming the throbbing of his heart with practiced ease. He waited patiently for the archangel to scan the room and for conversation to pick up again before continuing to ease down the aisle.

'Indeed, Archangel.'

'To what do I owe the honor?'

Let them talk… he had things to do. When he was a comfortable distance away that their voices had faded to whispering echoes, he readied his weapon and looked up. The shelves seemed sturdy enough, and the countless orbs that sat along them were spaced out at exactly the same distances.

They were all clear. He thought they were snowglobes or maybe had something valuable suspended in their centers, but they were just disappointing crystal orbs. Phantom huffed inside. What a let down… If the room was unguarded, without traps or security, why had he asked Phantom to take such trivial items along these shelves?

Ah, Freud was Freud. He'd let him be.

He gripped his cane, counting the number of shelves and judging the distance to the top. Mentally, he did a check. No sound was coming his way. No sign of movement. The orbs were lined up on top of each other, the perfect space for a thief to slot his foot between them on every shelf. Good foothold. Good location.

The time was as good as any.

He took a deep and silent breath before setting his foot against one shelf and vaulting upwards. Shelf after shelf flew past him, the orbs gleaming in the light and winking in his shadow. When he felt his momentum shift he merely flipped and leaped up the shelf behind him instead.

He used his momentum to land at the very top of the shelf, breathing slightly heavier. The shelf looked to be in construction. As he stayed perfectly still for a while, he blinked as two orbs appeared on the shelf, each marked with its individual name. And another on the shelf to his right, two more on the shelf to his left.

He needed to watch out for any of them. Who knew what damage he might do if he trod on one by accident.

Carefully, he jumped from shelf to shelf. In such an eerie world, magic was probably a bad idea. The whole place pulsed with it. Using any magic at all would have him detected and that would make him lose the bet, wouldn't it?

Freud had pointed out the shelf of interest earlier. He meticulously counted them off before coming to the right one.

Their voices floated nearer and nearer. He stuck his cane out and studied the gems pressed into the handle, checking for reflections in them (of course he had a use for them, what — did everyone think he was merely a jewel-hungry thief?). Two angels, Freud and the archangel, came into view, their tiny reflections upside down.

Phantom rolled his eyes. How nice… he'd spent all that time strategizing and they had simply _walked_ over and now hindered his search — wait. He looked closer. The archangel was holding something, probably another orb.

He took another breath to calm his nerves before sliding off the shelf, climbing down on the other side, away from the girl's field of vision. Through the rows and rows of shelves, he read each name one by one, scanning the letters. When his feet hit the floor, he simply moved to the next section and began his slow ascent all over again.

'... did you tell him?'

Their voices grew louder and more distinct.

'There was no need to,' said Freud. 'He isn't my ward any more.'

Phantom kept his mind on the task at hand, pricking an ear to listen, but only because he needed to know if their attention had shifted.

'Ah, but I have a feeling that the Master Thief would like to know.' — Phantom froze. That little girl knew him? —'Isn't he the gatherer of gems? What is knowledge, but another treasure?'

'You know how annoying it is when you speak in riddles, don't you, Destiny,' said Freud, his voice as calm as always.

There was a snap of a finger. One orb, just a few rows down from where Phantom was hanging, flickered to life in a flare of purple.

He glanced at it as colors began to form. Brown sands of Ariant, the black hue of his Master's mask, twilight reds of the sunsets he watched from his vantage point in the cities, sandy brown of Aria's hair, sky blue feathers of Shinsoo, blood red splatters.

How did those shades match up so precisely —

A word was written across it, in his own blocky handwriting:

_Phantom_.

He stopped himself from gritting his teeth. He needed to stay silent.

'Ah, I don't mean to,' said the little girl. Destiny, was it… the way she had made that orb come to life, she was a very dangerous person. 'I'm just trying to tell you that he should know why you're interested to bring him here.'

Phantom blinked. She knew that he was in the room too?

'Me? Why would I bring Phantom here?' Freud laughed. 'You're being assumptuous.'

The orb was still moving… the red of Freud's robes, his brown hair, his ocean blue eyes. Mixtures of green, brown, blue, yellow, the five heroes. Red. Then it cycled over again.

Phantom cast one last longing look at it before continuing his search. Freud had told him not to touch anything else, and so he would stick to the plan. Freud's plans always worked, anyway.

'You wouldn't come in here unless there was something you wanted,' smiled Destiny. 'Lotus had come back from duty hollering the place down, screaming that he wanted Orchid back as his ward.'

'And why would Phantom be here?'

They were in his field of vision now. He moved carefully, more fluidly, knowing how the human eye caught abrupt motions better than smooth ones.

Where was Freud's orb? He just wanted it and wanted to leave, right now.

'Because you need him, Freud. Have you told him what you want the orb for?'

'No, I have not, but only because I have no intention of obtaining it.'

Tut, Freud, smirked Phantom. It's not nice to lie. But her words still made something ache inside him.

'You should tell him that you're only using him to get your memories back.'

Freud's memories?

This section didn't have the orb either.

Last one…

'And that you're not really the Freud he thinks you are.'

Phantom felt his eyes narrow.

'Will he trust you, Freud? He doesn't know the _real_ you, does he?'

'Well, I don't know the real me either, Archangel,' Freud deadpanned. 'True enlightenment is still relatively unattainable.'

He landed on the floor so gently he was sure he wouldn't even disturb a single speck of dust. There was an empty space on one of the shelves, where a single orb should be, but there was only a stand there, and across it was written a simple word in slanting cursive.

_Freud_.

His eyes flickered to the orb cradled in Destiny's hands.

Freud had an expression of utmost calm and he swore he'd never seen Freud so collected before in his entire life. Phantom tapped his chin.

It would be just like pickpocketing his Master Raven, back in the good old days. Except that Master Raven was an experienced thief, while Destiny was a supernatural angel who might sense the orb pinched from her hands before he managed to take two steps away.

But he did so love a challenge.

He crouched lower to the ground, studying the way she rolled the orb carelessly around her fingers. It was pulsing dimly, odd swirls of colors, and Phantom was careful to stay sufficiently out of sight lest she see his reflection in the crystal.

'Let's keep the jokes for another time, shall we?' Destiny chuckled. 'I'll get it into that thick skull of yours, Freud. You've worn my patience down enough.'

'As you wish,' he stated.

She narrowed her eyes. 'Phantom is there, staring at his crystal orb, disobeying you right now. He already heard me just now and has lost the trust he had in you, and if you can be selfish then why can't he?'

He saw Freud's jawline tighten.

'He's reaching closer and closer, the most mysterious gem he's seen so far,' Destiny smiled. 'And then we all know what he's going to do —'

This was his chance.

He drew a card and tossed it sloppily in the direction of his orb, which was still glowing deep red, and the paper hit the shelf with a slight rustle.

Destiny grinned and turned. Phantom smiled too when he saw the twinkle in Freud's eyes.

Good for Freud, he knew better.

'See? I told you —'

He dashed forward two steps. A billow of his cape and the sudden white swirl had the girl confused. All he had to do was pluck the orb from her fingers.

He reached out, met her eyes, winked, and reappeared behind Freud, who had slid between the two of them with his wings spread defensively.

'Ah, I see.' Destiny laughed. 'I know when I'm beaten… I've underestimate the bond between you two, Freud, Phantom. Impressive too, angel, especially since you didn't know a thing about him beforehand.'

'Phantom helped just a little,' chuckled Freud. Phantom quietly waited behind him, the round crystal firmly sitting in his palm. It was glowing a soft yellow, as if in recognition of who was holding it.

There was a flare of light brighter than his surroundings as Destiny raised a finger. Phantom inhaled sharply, feeling his insides wilt in the presence of such tremendous power.

'He's my ward,' said Freud, and in the sternness of his voice, there was no room for argument. 'I will protect him even if it costs me my life.'

'Return me the orb at once, angel.' Destiny's voice was hard.

'He won't be doing that any time soon,' purred Phantom, as if his heart wasn't racing a mile a minute. 'Not after all the effort I took to obtain it.'

He grasped Freud's hand and uncurled his fingers, pressing the crystal into his palm.

Destiny let out a scream, and Freud's focus flickered just enough that he didn't notice the bolt of energy flying his way.

Phantom only had the time to yell and hold a hand up to shield himself from the incoming pain.

:

* * *

:

It never comes.

Very slowly, Phantom lowers his hand. The searing light too, is almost gone, and it's not painful to the eyes any more.

Over the blood thumping in his ears he finally registers the sound of voices around them. It's a monotonous drag, the pace never-changing… it's Neinheart, giving a lecture in the echoey hall of Ereve.

Phantom listens and almost groans when he hears the topic and begins to smile.

'Wha… what?' Freud groans, a hand clapped to his head.

Phantom lets out a whoop at their having avoided being blasted into smithereens, and he might as well he invisible with the way nothing responds to his every move.

Freud gives him an odd look. 'I'm missing something here, aren't I.'

Phantom merely shrugs, still grinning widely enough to split his face in two, and points to the door.

_On cue the doors slammed open, and a Dragon Master in red robes came marching in, dragging a sulking Master Thief along by the wrist. They took their seats, Freud near the front of the hall and Phantom beside Mercedes. At once he began showing her a little toy, a crystal dragon that appeared and shattered in the palm of his hand. Mercedes let out a soft but audible 'ooh' in surprise and leaned in closer as Neinheart huffed and talked even louder. _

'Oh,' says the angel beside him, as if remembering something.

'Oh yes,' grins Phantom, letting out another laugh. 'We're inside your memories now, Freud. And this is amazing.'

* * *

**A/N**

TWO THIRDS OF THE WAY THERE BABIES. WE'RE GNA FINISH THIS THING.


	10. Crystal clear

After Phantom has laughed so much his stomach hurts, Freud brings him to one of the benches outside the conference room. Phantom snickers all the way there, somehow feeling ecstatic that they managed to end up in this place, against all the odds.

'Hopefully our bodies won't be there for that girl to fry,' he grins.

Freud looks alarmed. 'Oh… what if they are? I don't know —'

'Oh, lighten up, Freud.' He laughs and claps him on the shoulder. 'They might capture us, but we'll still be alive. That archangel is scary, though.'

'She isn't an archangel for nothing.' Freud chuckles then, relief apparent on his face.

'But she's cute,' Phantom muses.

'I thought you had your eyes for older, more mature women,' Freud deadpans. 'I guess I'm mistaken.'

'Aria will always be a childish little brat in my eyes, Freud. And you're just a stubborn toddler who refuses to go to bed.'

Phantom sighs, satisfied to simply be beside Freud given the day's ordeals. Freud makes it easy to forget the wrangled thoughts of his nightmare, and he makes Phantom want to forget his thoughts of vengeance and ignore the fact that Orchid is still alive, somewhere in the real world.

They're seated in one of Ereve's countless gardens. Phantom reclines against the finely-carved stone chair and breathes in the smell of spring, the fragrance of flowers, and says, 'You know, I never liked nature before I met you.'

'Oh, really?' Freud turns to him, looking more than a little curious.

'Yeah…' Phantom hums. He smiles when birdsong erupts from the nearby trees and Freud turns to try and spot them. 'You made me realise that there's more to the world than just gold.'

Freud chuckles quietly and says nothing.

Phantom huffs in mock indignation at having been ignored, but he likes the silence that accompanies the Dragon Master. It's a special kind of silence — one that doesn't demand to be filled.

They watch the wind whistle across the grass and Phantom can't help but steal glances at Freud, the way the gusts snatch at the fine edges of his feathers and at his soft brown hair. Phantom wants to reach over to the mage's hand, which is resting on the bench beside them, but he has had too many nightmares which end when he touches his lovers and he doesn't want to risk that again.

'Say, Freud.' He gets up from the bench and strolls down to the edge of the lake, scuffling the ground.

'What is it?'

He finds a flat pebble, nicely rounded and good for tossing. It bounces in his palm as he speaks, mentally weighing it and calculating the strength he needs to make it fly. 'Why are you an angel in my dream?'

'You're not dreaming,' says the angel.

The stone skips once, twice, five times, seven times before sinking.

One short of the record Freud set.

'Nice try.' Phantom huffs and looks for another stone. He finds one, the underside slightly mossy.

'Honest,' Freud protests. 'Why would you dream of an angel when you can have Freud in the flesh?'

'Because I've been dreaming it pretty often already,' smiles Phantom.

Again, seven skips. The shot was slightly off balanced there.

'You're not dreaming,' Freud says again. 'I can tell you everything that you've been dreaming about for your past dream.'

'Why, of course you can.' Phantom snickers. 'You're just a figment of my very vast imagination.'

Freud contemplates. Somehow Phantom finds his insistence charming, like a child who has his hand stuck in the cookie jar but says he never meant to steal the cookies inside.

'So who signed the note?'

Six skips. Phantom scowls. Freud's voice cut into his concentration just now, he could've hit an eight if he didn't jump from the sudden sound.

'What?'

'The report.'

'Didn't you sign it?' Phantom grumbles. 'So what?'

He selects another stone quickly, kicking it up with the toe of his shoe and angling his hand as Freud gets up.

'How could I have signed it if I'm dead?'

Phantom jerks in surprise and the stone flies out of his hand.

It skims, hits the water, once, twice, four times, six times, seven, eight, nine, ten times before slipping into the water, barely sending a ripple across the still surface.

Phantom lowers his hand, slowly turns around.

Freud is still talking, his ethereal wings folded neatly across his back, head tilted. Phantom's mind races to piece together the information.

'You saw how insistent they were to keep you away. They didn't want you there. They probably didn't even know you —'

'Everyone knows the Master Thief Phantom,' retorted Phantom, but his voice was weak.

'— so why would they write a report and send it to you? It wasn't even signed and approved by whatever authority they have there.'

Phantom walks back up to Freud, so close he can feel the angel's breath. He stares down at Freud, who is half a head shorter, but the brunette doesn't even blink. 'You're saying… you're really dead? You're back from the dead, then?'

'Furthermore, it was written with _my_ handwriting —'

'I get it, Freud.' Phantom scowls. His head is spinning, and a tiny little part of him is exhilarated for some reason, thoughts of _I told you so!_ ringing in his mind, but why?

'I'm your guardian angel, Phantom,' smiles Freud, and there is a certain fondness in his eyes.

Phantom recognises the glimmer. It speaks of the patience that the Dragon Master used to exercise when explaining complicated concepts to clueless Master Thieves.

'Alright,' hisses Phantom. He collapses on the bench and pulls his hat lower across his face, sulking furiously to hide his sudden confusion. 'Start from the beginning.'

Freud lets out a slight exhalation of air in either relief or frustration, and Phantom can't tell which. 'I intend to. Do I get bonus points for tying up your previous dream with my story?'

'If you can tell one good enough, I'll believe you.'

It takes an hour and a good lot of squabbling before Phantom is finally satisfied. It's the strangest story he's ever heard. Somehow, by some sheer fluke of luck, he managed to touch a supernatural creature and remind him of the past he's never had. It makes him feel important, that he could change this confused version of Freud if he wanted to.

But then again, Freud has always made him feel important.

'So the gist of it is, that now we both have missing memories and we both need each other to help each other out before I die.'

Freud nods. 'Correct. Very astute.'

'I don't want to die,' says Phantom immediately.

'I know.'

'I really don't.'

'I know.'

'I haven't done so many things,' protests Phantom, throwing his hands to his head. He's being melodramatic now, but the knowledge that he's going to die within twelve hours is by far the worse knowledge he's ever known. 'I haven't robbed Luminous of his underwear, or hidden Mercedes's bows, or stolen Maha away, or —'

'I know, Phantom,' Freud smiles.

Phantom takes in a very deep breath and turns, seeking comfort in the depths of the calm ocean of Freud's eyes, but finds sorrow there instead. 'I don't blame you,' he says gently. 'I know you will try to save me if you can.'

Freud's smile softens, becomes genuine, the farce of strength melting away, and Phantom is mesmerised. How he loves his lovers when they smile, the way they look at ease, the way they make him feel like everything is right with the world for once.

'For now, I'd say time has stopped,' Freud turns away to look at a duck floating along the surface of the lake, and Phantom sees peace in his eyes. '_They_ can't touch us here… so let's make the best of it.'

'Sure thing, Freud. But I'm not going to let you go into any place that has _any_ reading materials,' he growls. He raises a hand when Freud tries to protest, 'No, shh, shut, no, no buts, no excuses. We're going to do stuff now. My way.'

Freud rolls his eyes. 'Fine.'

Phantom puffs up at his success. 'Come on then, there's no time to waste!'

Freud shakes his head at his eagerness and gets up. 'I wish I could experience this as a human,' he muses as he comes up to Phantom. 'Not as an angel with wings…'

'Change yourself then,' Phantom raises an eyebrow. 'They're your memories anyway.'

Freud gives this a bit of thought before deciding to attempt. The first time he makes another pair of smaller wings appear and the second time he makes them turn red, and it has Phantom doubling over in laughter as Freud flushes at the embarrassment he's feeling.

'Shut up,' a finally wingless Freud cuffs him on the head.

Phantom mock whines and flinches, but he doesn't miss the twinkle in Freud's eyes either. He regards the angel-turned-Dragon-Master and his red robe.

'That isn't the Dragon Master's insignia,' he points out. The front of the robe is still white, but with a rough painting of blue feathery wings there instead.

'I'm not quite a Dragon Master yet, remember?' grins Freud. 'Give me a break.'

Phantom laughs and slaps him on the back, a little too hard. 'I know what to do,' he grins, and sprints forward when Freud tries to hit him in retaliation. 'I'll lead the way.'

Something catches his foot and suddenly he's sprawled out over the floor, blinking stars from his vision.

Freud strides forward, tutting at him. 'Watch out for stray feet, Master Thief.'

:

* * *

:

_Phantom had a firm grip on Freud's wrist as he pulled him away from his house. The mage was protesting to the high heavens but he would have none of it. Freud had "forgotten" to eat lunch _and_ breakfast and Phantom had decided, somewhat roughly, that it was time to stop. _

_He had grabbed Freud's quill and yanked it from his grip, breaking the nib and getting ink everywhere, but thankfully he had also taken the liberty to hide his staff under Afrien's wing as the great dragon slept. _

_So now, Freud was all his, and not a single fibre of his being had been singed or destroyed._

_He pulled the grumbling mage out his study, down the stairs, into the afternoon sunlight, away from his house and books, and through the grasses. The sun was glaring and it was so hot that even the birds had disappeared into the shade, allowing the droning of cicadas to fill the silence they left behind. _

'… _and you know how much work I have to do,' grumbled Freud, wiping a sheen of sweat from his forehead. 'The council expects the report in by tomorrow and I've got a new spellbook that needs decrypting —'_

'_And a body that needs rest and feeding too, you stuffy old dodo,' grumbled Phantom back in retaliation. He led Freud to a clearing before whisking out a red-and-white tablecloth from thin air with one hand. _

_Soon he had the both of them settled on the mat. With a wave of his hand he had a picnic basket appear and bowed to the applause ringing in his head (it was pulled from one of the pockets that Freud had fused magic into)._

'_Are you going to let me eat at all, Master Trickster?' Freud raised an eyebrow._

_Phantom glared at him and thrust a wrapped sandwich forward. 'If you must, at least lend me the title of Magician.' _

_Freud accepted the sandwich just as a low growl escaped from his stomach. _

'_Or food giver,' said Phantom pointedly, setting out a thermos and some fruits, 'Or caretaker, or Master Chef, or Most Generous And Caring Person, or… or maybe if I'm Extra Generous, then Oh Great One will suffice, I suppose.'_

'_Well. Thank you, dearest Phantom,' hummed Freud, eagerly unwrapping it. _

'_Or that, the plainest title of all.' Phantom huffed. 'Why must you rain on my parade so?'_

'_Because it's the nicest-sounding,' mumbled Freud around his sandwich._

'_Master Chef sounds pretty decent to me —'_

'_Unless you want to be called errand boy.'_

'_I most definitely absolutely do not!' _

'_Errand boy, don't you know I don't like mayonnaise in my sandwiches?' scowled Freud, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. 'It makes me queasy afterwards and doesn't go very well with tea.'_

'_Well I'm _sorry _then oh great and mighty dragon master, but that's yours. I'm not about to eat a sandwich with so much lettuce in it.' Phantom turned to his ham sandwich, licking his lips._

_He was about to take a huge bite when Freud set the sandwich down and bit into an apple. _

'_And just what are you doing?'_

'_I'm on a pseudo-hunger strike.' Freud worked his way quickly through it. 'I am particular about three things: the length of my candle, the supply of my tea, and the presence of mayonnaise in my food.'_

_Phantom groaned. 'Well too bad. You have to eat, and an apple doesn't exactly count as lunch!' _

'_I'll have to make do, I guess,' sighed Freud, setting the core of the apple aside on the grass, 'Transcendents know I've skipped two meals already, what's a third?'_

_Phantom stared down at the sandwich in his hand. _

'_And how loudly my stomach growled earlier… I haven't heard it complain so loudly in a while, have you, Phantom?'_

_But he really, really wanted his ham sandwich. _

'_And to think I have another meeting just before dinnertime… I mightn't even be able to get a bite before then —'_

_Phantom held out his beloved sandwich, cutting him off. _

'_Oh, why, is this for me?' Freud grinned, and didn't wait for a reply before he relieved Phantom of his burden. 'Thank you very much, Oh Great And Generous Caretaker and Food Giver —'_

'_I'll steal your notes,' hissed Phantom._

_For some reason, Freud's smile merely softened. It wasn't what Phantom was expecting_

'_Thank you.'_

_Phantom huffed in reply before turning his attention to Freud's abandoned sandwich. 'Stubborn little brat.'_

'_But it is pretty nice out here, no?' Freud chuckled, already halfway through his lunch. _

_When Phantom was done picking out the vegetables in his sandwich, he looked up and saw the dragon master licking his lips free of crumbs and helping himself to the tea in the thermos flask, looking for all the world like a toddler about to take a bite of ice cream. _

_Phantom could only chuckle. 'I guess.'_

'Oh,' says Phantom. 'Freud was saying my name sounds nicer than any of the other titles I gave myself.'

Freud presses his fingers to his eyes.

Phantom huffs as he drops down in the clearing a distance away from the picnic mat. 'I'm sorry. I'm not as witty or quick as _you_ are.'

'You're forgiven.' Freud studies the pair, eating in quiet company before plopping down beside Phantom. 'Are you hungry?'

'Am I?' beams Phantom, 'Very. I haven't had breakfast or lunch.'

'You poor soul. Let me be the food giver.'

With a wave of his hand, Freud has a basket appear from thin air (except that Phantom knows it wasn't real, because everything here is from Freud's mind) and sets it down in front of Phantom smugly.

'That's my trick!'

Freud holds up a finger. 'Uh, uh. Since I am the food giver, I expect some form of thanks.'

'A kiss on the cheek?' volunteers Phantom.

Freud throws a handful of fries at him.

The next thing Phantom knows is that the basket is upturned and covering Freud's head, and fries are strewn across the glade, and he's wielding the chicken drumstick he fished out, holding it out like a sword.

'You really want to do this?' grins Phantom, as Freud pushes up the basket, trying to set it properly on his head like a helmet.

'I don't see why not,' contemplates Freud.

A bowl of salad appears in Freud's hands, the glossy leaves covered with a liberal amount of dressing.

Maybe not just "liberal".

Phantom's face falls. 'Oh, dear gods.'

Freud hefts the bowl in one hand, eyes glinting. 'Run, errand boy.'

Phantom yelps and scrambles away, barely jumping out of the way of a flying bowl being flung towards him. Another and another follow in quick succession and Phantom can only thank his lucky stars he can still teleport in here. 'Freud, why —'

A pancake lands and plasters itself on his torso. Freud is holding a stack of them, all drenched in the thickest and most tantalizing syrup he has ever seen, and is tossing them like frisbees, a little too quick for him to react to. The brunette has abandoned the picnic basket for a shiny silver saucepan which actually makes him look adorable.

'Freud, please stop —'

Something hits Phantom squarely on the hat from above and there is a sickening splutter before coldness drenches his clothes. He halts in his tracks as milk and cornflakes rain down upon him, soaking him through to the skin. Gods, there's cornflakes all around now, wet and soggy and trampled on, and he can feel a couple inside his shirt.

A huge plastic bowl falls to the ground and his soiled hat soon follows. Freud is doubled over, laughing so hard that there are tears in his eyes, his robe still spick and span.

Phantom strides over, murder in his eyes.

Freud looks up, panting hard. 'Phantom?'

The warmth in his arms and pressed against his chest is addictive. He has missed this so, the smell of Freud, the way Freud relaxes in his arms, Freud's surprised gasp as Phantom pulls him close and nuzzles into his neck.

He draws back and pulls the steel saucepan from Freud's head with gentle hands, relishing the way Freud's hair is now pressed flat like a table, weaves his fingers into the strands to ruffle it back into place. Freud's eyes widen, Phantom can plainly see a terrified exhilaration flickering in the hues of midsummer sky, can plainly see the pupils dilated and wide and feel Freud's heartbeat racing against his chest.

Phantom purrs and squeezes Freud tighter to him, running a hand down his back. Freud's slight trembling slowly ceases and Phantom can feel his own eyes soften as Freud leans back to feel his hand better, arches up and pushes himself flush against Phantom's torso.

Freud's lips are tantalizing. Phantom savors the moment, admires the pink sheen before brushing a thumb across the lower lip. He chuckles fondly as Freud stiffens, a flush slowly but surely staining the rise and falls of his cheeks as Freud tilts his head up and parts his lips in silent invitation —

'How can I leave my dearest angel clean while I'm soaked with all manners of food?' he purrs before pulling away, laughing. 'Now we're even.'

He rescues his hat from the grass, claps it back on his head as if it wasn't sticky with milk, and starts munching on the pancake he retrieved from his left shoulder.

So determinedly engrossed in clearing himself up, Phantom looks away for a few seconds. He misses the moments where Freud stands stock still for a few seconds more, a flicker of disappointment in his eyes, and Phantom only sees him when he's settled down and cracking open a thermos for tea to calm his nerves.

'I never knew you were one for food fights,' he grins.

Freud smiles, but in his adrenaline rush Phantom doesn't notice that it's slightly forced. 'And I thought you were eager to get your kiss.'

'Ah. I suppose that can all change in a moment, can't it.'

A distance away, the Dragon Master and the Master Thief continue their comfortable silence on the red picnic mat, blissfully unaware of the fiasco that would happen centuries into the future.

:

* * *

:

'… you've got to be kidding me.'

'I'm not! We don't have these in Aether. Stop looking at me like that and just tell me how they work.'

Phantom snickers. 'This is for hot water, this is for cold. You have to turn on both to get warm water.'

'And these are the soaps…'

'Seriously, Freud, don't your wards bathe?'

'I don't watch them, do I,' snaps Freud.

Phantom raises an eyebrow. 'But you've seen m —'

'Because you sleep that way and kick off the blankets —'

'So these,' says Phantom loudly, cutting in and interrupting him, 'Are the soaps. Shampoo for your hair, lotion for your body… and… Well! Looks like you've never used conditioner.'

'What?'

'Strange. It's so smooth, I would've thought otherwise.'

Freud grits his teeth hard to bite back the burning sensation in his cheeks and bustles Phantom out the door. Checking that he has a fresh set of clothes ready to change into (it really feels strange having to care about all these things now), he steps onto the cold tiles and fiddles with the red and blue knobs.

One moment it's too hot, and then too cold. The spray has him yelping inside, he can hear Phantom's laughter floating through the door and he sulks, wondering why he didn't just stand out of the water's path and test the temperature with his hand.

When it's the perfect temperature, he steps inside the running water and tilts his head up to meet the spray. For a moment, the mangled thoughts of Phantom disappear with the rivulets of water flowing ceaselessly down his skin. He's warm everywhere, and it almost feels like he's clean again. Maybe it'd feel just like this in a heavy downpour, he mused, refreshing and purifying.

He pops open the cap of the shampoo and sniffs it. It smells… well it smells like perfumes and soap that humans used, he isn't very sure what it's supposed to smell like. Instinctively he rubs the soapy mess in his fingers and for the first time he's able to feel the bubbles sticking to his skin, the touch cold and light. He grins as he shakes off the bubbles and watches stray droplets burst them and scatter their colors.

And when he works the soap into his hair, he can't help but smile. So this is why humans spend so long in the shower. It's therapeutic, working the rich foam between the roots of his hair, and he finally places the smell of apples and flowers floating in the air. He makes sure to get the foam everywhere, taking extra care to massage firmly at the scalp behind his ears.

Then he starts to work the lotion into his skin, rubbing in small circles, purring as he relaxes. His thoughts stray. He imagines Phantom's hands running along his skin and is slightly ashamed to catch himself in the act.

What was that anyway, that almost-kiss in the glade? Freud didn't notice his hands slowing down and coming to a stop on his shoulder as his thoughts overwhelmed him. It was true, he wanted that kiss, but surely Phantom was over the line in teasing him that way. In fact Freud still wants that kiss now.

Transcendents. What's gotten into him? Freud shakes the muddling thoughts from his mind. There is no way Phantom would fall in love with _him_, this version of the Dragon Master, the Freud-that-was-not-Freud.

There's no way he can let Phantom love him. Phantom was merely a human, no? And humans don't live forever.

He retreats back under the spray. Almost immediately, a stinging burning feeling floods his eyes and he yelps, rubbing furiously before realising that it's the soap irritating it.

'Freud?'

Phantom's voice, suddenly loud and sounding so near, makes him yelp and jump. He loses focus, there's a soft _woosh _of air just audible under the spray of the water, and the cubicle is flooded with white feathers that are quickly getting soaked with water.

'Freud, are you alright?' Phantom's knocking on the door and Freud can't make his wings disappear now that they're wet, and he can't turn off the tap fast enough so his feathers slowly get wetter, and wetter.

'I-I'm alright,' he finally remembers to call back when Phantom's voice takes on a frantic note. 'Just… soap got in my eye.'

'Really! You remind me of a child,' is all Phantom has to say before he's gone.

Freud vainly blinks away the soap as he maneuvers himself in the toilet, careful that his ungainly wings don't knock anything over. Spreading his wings vertically behind him, he edges back into the spray and tilts his head back, rinsing out his eyes until most of the pain is gone.

Pity about his wings, but he can probably dry them later.

Finally washed, he carefully disentangles himself from the shower and plods out for the towel. He wipes himself dry, wipes his hair again and again until it doesn't drip any more, and slips into the Dragon Master's tunic and shorts. It's a good thing he managed to find a shirt, he wouldn't want to tear two holes for wings in one of those royal red robes.

He's still somehow surprised to find the clothes a perfect fit.

Phantom's pacing the door outside with unmasked worry and practically pounces on him when he steps out, the towel around his head. Freud blinks in confusion.

'Are you alright? Your eye looks a little red…' Phantom is prying his eye wide open, uncomfortably close, and Freud pushes him away. 'And your wings…?'

'I'm alright,' he says, rubbing the feeling back into his eyelids. 'I really am. Go clean up.'

Phantom gives him another concerned look-over before disappearing into the toilet.

Freud sits himself on the Dragon Master's bed and continues wiping his hair dry. Then he tries to work on his feathers. There are so many of them, all dripping wet and their fibres tangled. Freud sighs. To think a few seconds under a spray of running water would do this to his wings. How are those birds made, then, if they can fly in the rain?

(Maybe if he had to hazard a guess, there was a sheen of oil coating them. Plants had wax on their leaves, so it would be logical for birds to have something similar too.)

Phantom comes out shortly after. He's in a long-sleeved cotton shirt of his own that he pulled right out of the Dragon Master's closet. They're probably very close, even before the war, and Freud remembers with a slight pang of jealousy that the guest room they had passed by earlier was empty and Phantom's things were all in the Dragon Master's room.

Phantom stands in front of him, armed with a brush. 'Something the matter, Freud?'

'Not at all,' he smiles back.

'Then you'll let me work out all the tangles and knots.'

Phantom clambers on the bed and starts working the brush through his hair. Freud can't help but close his eyes to feel Phantom's hands sifting through the strands.

Then he shivers when Phantom moves to touch his wings. It sends a electrifying jolt through him. He didn't know that a touch on his wings would feel this intense.

'Freud?'

'It's nothing,' he lies. 'What are you doing?'

'Your poor plumage is damp,' purrs Phantom, as he starts threading the teeth of the comb through one feather, and then the next, arranging the soft fibres carefully before moving to the next one.

Freud watches his movements, mesmerised. The Master Thief is actually quite deft at this.

'So, Phantom. Have you combed any birds recently?' He can't resist the jibe.

'I take good care of my hat,' he grins and points to the raven hat, now gleaming and in perfect, pristine condition once again, sitting on the Dragon Master's dresser.

Of course. No feathers as fragile as the soft, delicate ones on Phantom's hat will ever be able to withstand the throes of battle unless they're cared for by a very dedicated hand.

He's about to ask Phantom about bird wings when the door opens. Phantom tuts when he sees who it is and what he's carrying.

_Freud walked in, looking regal in his Dragon Master's robes, and deposited a heavy-looking pile of volumes on the desk. He sighed, stretching slightly before setting out a pot of tea and checking the candle by the side of the desk. Then he sat, and began to read. _

'He really needs to take better care of himself,' murmurs Freud. 'I think I heard some pops in his shoulders.'

'That's what I've been trying to tell him all along.' Phantom rolls his eyes, still working the brush through the fibres. 'He's a stubborn little brat and refuses to take my well-intentioned advice.'

'But isn't there a reason for it?' Freud glances over his shoulder at Phantom.

Phantom nods, not looking up. 'Greater good of mankind, more powerful weapon, saving lives, blah blah. He'll burn himself up slowly like that.'

Freud contemplates. 'Burning himself up slowly? That wasn't how he died.'

Phantom stiffens. 'No, but if he lived, he'd have died anyway, crushed under the weight of so many unrealistic expectations placed on his weary shoulders.'

Freud notes the raw bitterness in Phantom's voice and decides to keep his thoughts to himself.

_The sky faded from mid-afternoon to night as Freud lost track of time and made time itself skip. The next thing he remembered was a knock on the door, coupled with hushed snickering floating into the room. _

_He chuckled, glancing fondly at the door before setting a deep scowl on his face and turning back to his books, noting the page he was at in preparation for whatever was to come next._

'He was expecting me!' yelps Phantom suddenly, making Freud jump.

'Well you know how smart he is,' chuckles Freud.

_When the door opened and Phantom and Mercedes traipsed in, Freud looked up. His eyes softened and he set down his quill, eyes trained on the Master Thief, who had frozen in his tracks. 'Phantom,' he whispered, the name hushed and surprised. _

_Mercedes whispered something to Phantom, trying to goad him on, but Freud merely took Phantom's wrist, twisting the magical seal there and making shards flow out his sleeve. _

_Freud smirked, listening to Phantom splutter as his trick was ruined before his very eyes, barely managing to snatch the crystal dragon from its collision course with the ground. _

'_I'll be taking this,' he smiled, and then wider when Phantom protested._

'_But Freud —'_

'_And you can sleep on the couch tonight.' _

'Oh,' says Freud. 'That's mean.'

'Exactly!' Phantom whines. 'I wanted to surprise him, too —'

'But you wanted to _trick_ him with it,' tuts Freud.

Phantom is the picture of innocence. 'It's just a little something to lift his mood.'

'While I'm still sympathetic to you, you'd best drop your defense.'

Phantom grumbles.

_Mercedes laughed and laughed as Freud pushed them both out of his room and shut the door firmly behind them. He leaned against the door and chuckled, holding the crystal dragon to eye level and inspecting it. Actually, Phantom had given it a good polish and it had come back to him more brilliant than when he had made it._

_He set it on his desk beside his inkpot before slipping into the bathroom, where he changed into a plain smock and slacks, and clambered into bed. Freud tossed and turned and tossed before he finally decided to snatch the pillow from under his head and curl around it, nuzzling into it. _

_A look of concentration crossed his face, and only then did he fall still. _

Freud looks up as Phantom yawns and gets off the bed. He flexes his wings, pleased that the tangles are all gone and they're even better than before he got here.

Somehow, Phantom fixes a lot of things, for him and for the Dragon Master.

'Come on, Freud.' Phantom takes his wrist and pulls him along and out of the room.

Freud doesn't protest and just lets Phantom lead them straight through the door. He heads for the guest room that Freud had seen earlier and flops down on the bed, smiling.

'What?'

'I should be asking you that,' huffs Freud. 'What are we doing here?'

'Sleeping, of course.'

'And why would I —'

'Just humour me,' grins Phantom. 'Watching Freud try to sleep has gotten me tired, too.'

Freud raises an eyebrow, choosing his words carefully and going for the kill. 'Am I just a replacement, then?'

'A replace —' Phantom bursts out laughing. 'Good heavens, no. You're still my Freud, even if your memory is slightly haywire. Now climb in.'

Freud feels something heavy lift from his chest, and he has to swallow hard and stop himself from flinging himself into the bed.

'Eager, aren't you?' grins Phantom as he pulls Freud close, flinging the covers around them. 'I told you that you'd want my magnificent presence —'

Freud raises a finger and presses it against Phantom's lips.

Phantom smiles and only then does Freud nestle closer, breathing in Phantom's scent in the heady warmth, the sweet scent of vanilla mixed in with the flowers from the Dragon Master's soap. He listens to Phantom's heartbeat, listens to the soft and steady breaths, listens to their hair rustling on the pillow, and he swears there and then that nothing will ever beat this.

Time can wait. For now, he's with Phantom, and nothing else matters.

His thoughts fade, melding in with each other, and darkness clouds his vision. He fights it, wants to see more of Phantom, doesn't want to _go_ just yet, but he feels something soft and tender pressed on his forehead, hears a whisper but can't hear what is said, and then it occurs to him that tomorrow, his Phantom will be right here for him.

And he sleeps.

_Time ticked by and the door opened a fraction, making no sound at all. The Master Thief stole in, huffing silently at the figure curled up in bed, before changing into a bathrobe and sliding into bed. _

'_What are you doing here,' Freud murmured, his voice clear and untinged by sleep, but the indignation in his voice wasn't sincere in the least._

'_Preventing you from cuddling your pillow to death,' Phantom replied cheerily, 'You'd best let your brain relax. No need to spend the extra energy imagining the pillow is me.'_

'_Stop being such a bother and let me sleep, Phantom.' _

'_If I was a bother, you'd have been asleep an hour ago. Now go to bed, Freud.' _

_Freud curled up tighter, nestling against Phantom's shoulder and breathing in his scent. Sleep came easy all of a sudden, now that Phantom's presence was very real and very comforting beside him, and he struggled to stay awake just for a while more to savor the time he had with Phantom. _

_He was just about to slip away when he felt Phantom press a long, tender kiss to his forehead, the way it warmed him up from his insides like nothing else did._

'_Goodnight, Freud.' Phantom was whispering, 'And sweet dreams.'_

_And those words guided him into an easy slumber, he knew them by heart for he heard them every night, his own personal lullaby. Every night he was reminded as to why he would never grow tired of them even if he had to listen to them for a whole other lifetime._


	11. Prelude

Freud awakes slowly to birdsong and a comforting warmth around him. It's a new feeling. And strangely addictive. He burrows closer to Phantom, breathing in his scent and listening to the sound of the thief's gentle breaths. Phantom stirs slightly when Freud moves but he doesn't wake, only shifting to grasp the angel's feathers gently between his fingers.

Phantom is smiling slightly, as if dreaming some beautiful dream.

He takes a while to admire the thief's peaceful expression. He's been Phantom's guardian for a while now, but he has never seen Phantom at peace like this, his sleeping demeanor framed by spun gold that all but glistens in the amber rays of sunlight — Phantom looks handsome and even otherworldly, like a man right out of his dreams.

Perhaps, right out of the Dragon Master's dreams.

Gently, and slowly so he won't wake the sleeping man, Freud edges forward and drops a chaste kiss across the Master Thief's lips, content to just feel the softness of Phantom against his skin. He will have to be — it's all he can have, for now.

:

* * *

:

Phantom's pacing the front yard of the Dragon Master's house waving his arms exasperatedly. Freud is lying down on the grass, watching the blue clouds fly by with dazed, starstruck eyes. He really likes to watch the clouds go by, he hasn't gotten the chance to watch the clouds this way before. His wards are usually confined to work in the cities, or towns, and he's too busy making sure they don't bleed themselves to death by accident to actually relax. The clouds make him feel at peace, and if he stares hard enough he can convince himself he's flying without actually moving a feather.

'I'm telling you, Freud. We should really try to go someplace special.'

'Hm?'

'For once the entire world is ours to enjoy with no consequence at all —'

'We're not going to steal anything.'

'But Freud —'

'We are not going to steal anything,' repeats Freud, closing his eyes.

He hears Phantom huff in indignation. 'I was going to say _But Freud, that isn't all I'm concerned about because I'm actually trying to be a better person_ but sure, we won't steal anything if you don't want to.'

Freud cracks open an eye. 'Look into my eyes and say that again.'

Phantom stalks over. Freud watches his face change from exasperation to contemplation to a smirk.

'You know me too well,' chuckles Phantom.

'Of course.' He slowly gets to his feet. 'It's not hard to see where your priorities lie, you know.'

'They lie beside you,' says Phantom immediately, beaming like there's no tomorrow.

'Of course,' deadpans Freud.

'Let's have breakfast someplace nice.'

'Oh? Sure… where shall we go?' Freud strides up to Phantom, eyes still glued on the thick clouds rolling across the azure sky.

'A cliff.'

Freud turns to Phantom. 'What?'

Phantom waves a hand dismissively. 'You used to have a thing for heights. You'd be on a cliff somewhere when you were frustrated… hell you ran away with Afrien to escape from _me_.'

'Oh. You must've been extremely annoying, then.'

'How dare you!' Phantom clutches at his heart dramatically, hurt's printed all over his face. 'I was just expressing my concern for you, you know.'

Freud rolls his eyes.

'And mind you those wounds are still open! You should try to fix them someday before you regret —'

Phantom is cut off by a yelp as light bursts out behind him.

Freud grins widely at him. 'You were saying?'

'Freud! What's going on!?' Phantom yells, 'Make it stop!'

'I will not.'

The light intensifies, like all the sun's rays are concentrated between Phantom's shoulder blades, and everything turns white for a split second before it's gone as fast as it comes.

Phantom is standing in some awkward position, hands raised to block the blows of an imaginary enemy, his eyes squeezed shut.

Two large, white wings billow out behind him.

'Phantom,' murmurs Freud.

Phantom slowly opens his eyes and relaxes, but he yelps again when he sees the two wings sprouting from his back. 'What the hell?'

Freud bursts out laughing as Phantom tries to grab one wing and bring it forward to inspect it, sifting through the feathers almost frantically. They shift awkwardly with his every movement and Freud has to duck to avoid the flailing wings.

'Stop, Phantom, gods please just relax!'

'I'm a bird!' he yells.

'No, you're an angel —'

Phantom whoops, cutting Freud off and he takes several running leaps into the air, strewing fine dust behind him. Freud laughs harder as Phantom crashes back into the ground several times, getting dirt on his uniform while he tries to wrestle with his new appendages and the air currents flowing about him.

Freud is glared into silence. Phantom scowls and jams his raven hat tighter on his head before simply jumping straight up into the air. His wings spread out behind him. Freud watches with satisfaction as his feathers strain, brace against the air and hold his weight, and then Phantom almost moves instinctively, flapping languidly and gliding in a circle. He's wearing this huge, childlike grin that will split his face in two if he smiles any wider, the navy blue scarves of his hat trailing in his wake like the tail feathers of a magnificent bird of paradise.

'This is amazing, Freud,' laughs Phantom, spreading his arms to feel the air rushing past them.

Freud chuckles, spreading his own wings and coming quickly alongside Phantom. 'I know.'

Phantom grins happily at him, and Freud tries to memorize Phantom wearing the expression of someone trying out something new for the first time. Phantom folds his wings and lets himself fall backwards, plummeting down towards the ground and opening them at the last possible moment to swoop back up into the air. He maneuvers himself with such ease and grace, spinning in loops and little twirls, that Freud has to remind himself that Phantom has never ever 'flown' before, that Phantom is still human.

Phantom comes up beside him, grabbing his hand. The contact sends a sweet little shiver up his skin. The human touch is truly something Freud can't quite get enough of, especially since it's from Phantom. The thief is breathing hard, sheer exhilaration in his eyes, drunk on his flight.

'I wish I had wings while you were alive,' grins Phantom. 'I'd be able to chase you and Afrien down and never leave your side.'

Freud laughs. 'I think the Dragon Master would have burned off your feathers.'

Phantom pulls a face. He turns forward again, smiling, his hand tightens around Freud's as he leads him onwards through the air. Freud admires Phantom's lithe frame, the way his wings shift to catch the thermals. It's ironic, both of them physically angels, one of them's already dead and the other's guarding the memories of a man long gone, guarding something that will never really die.

They abandon the idea of breakfast to soar high above towns and trees and people, invisible and insignificant in this sliver of time. Phantom brings him higher than he's ever needed to go, to play amongst the clouds that aren't really as solid as they look. They are cool to the touch and evaporate like mist on his skin, and they leave trails like white watercolor smudges in the turbulence behind their wings.

Phantom brings Freud around the world, their wings making short work of distance. They're in the Dragon Master's memory, so the forests are blurry, but the towns are more sharply defined. They look different, they're unfamiliar to Freud now but they must've been this way three hundred years ago, frozen in time. He can see the roofs from here, the thatched houses of Henesys, the thicker and more overgrown forest of Ellinia, a barren land where Kerning City was. Ludibrium non-existent, Orbis is smaller, with fewer clouds and less towering spires, though the docks are still teeming with airships of all sizes…

'Freud,' says Phantom with a sidelong glance at him, 'You want to know more about your past, right?'

He blinks, surprised by the sudden and abrupt change of topic. 'I… well, it isn't _my_ past, but…'

Phantom whirls around, comes up face to face with him in midair. Freud slows and they hover in front of each other, their hands clasped between them. Phantom is smiling gently now, eyes shining with a strange resigned nostalgia that makes Freud shiver.

'I don't know why we're here, in this particular time,' he murmurs, voice still audible over the rushing of the wind, 'But I'm sure there's a purpose for it.'

Freud tilts his head. 'Phantom? What's wrong?'

'Just answer my question.'

Of course the answer is yes, but he has a bad feeling about it. It's all but a dream, and he's sure that the answer he wants to say is the answer that will wake them up and thrust them back into reality.

'Yes,' he whispers anyway.

What is a dream if it lies in the way of the truth?

Phantom takes a deep breath and swallows hard. He points to the airships, one of them pulls away from the docks with a hiss of steam. 'Look. Those ships are armed for war… You can see the cannons, and the soldiers…'

Freud's eyes widen as he finally registers that the crudely-clad fairies mulling about the docks are meant to be soldiers, he just didn't have a clue that their clothes were the best they had for armor, back in the day.

'This means…'

Phantom smiles as recognition dawns. They take to the skies again, quickly overtaking the bulky airships that are headed to Leafre. Freud's heart pounds, he doesn't know what he's supposed to be seeing. War? Was this what Freud remembered of a war? If Phantom never pointed it out, he wouldn't even have known that they were in the midst of a full-blown war, not with the way everything seemed to be... in order, for now.

They land gently in a clearing. There are people everywhere. Warriors with heavy swords, archers with their bow and quiver, mages huddling together and chanting, thieves comparing poisoned knives, pirates slipping on their knuckles and loading their guns. Freud notices that most of the factions are dressed in the same way.

'The Knights of Ereve. You'd know them now as the Knights of Cygnus,' murmurs Phantom by way of explanation, as they thread through the mass of people and the uncomfortable silence that settles across the group.

'Where…'

Phantom pulls him along until they reach the end of the mass of people, and then further on some more.

_Freud strode by, his expression one of utmost concentration and gravity, a calm understanding that spoke of the full knowledge of what this war entailed and more. He passed by the heroes, meeting their gaze with a gentle nod to encourage in the wordless way only he knew how to. He looked almost regal in the heavy red robes he wore, the familiar coiling calligraphy-styled dragon insignia printed on the front, his staff in his hand and complementing perfectly the headband in his hair. _

_Mercedes was polishing her bowguns, her relaxed demeanor hiding perfectly what everyone knew to be an elven queen who could milk the blood from her enemies' throats if need be. Aran was seated, cross-legged and meditating with Maha across her lap, quiet bloodlust radiating off her in waves. Luminous was seated opposite her, ice blue eyes cold and distant as he recited his old Harmony spells and incantations under his breath. _

_A distance away, Afrien raised his mighty horned head and pressed his muzzle to Freud's hand. Freud seemed to melt into the contact, the slight sagging of his shoulders the only thing to betray how great the tolls of war was on him. He closed his eyes, as if recollecting his thoughts, to the sound of Afrien's throaty rumble rolling softly around the glade. _

_'Freud.' _

_The sharp and crisp word broke the Dragon Master from his thoughts. Freud looked up to meet the gaze of a fiercely determined Master Thief stalking towards him. Phantom had a slightly harried look in his eyes, as if he had something he wanted to do but had yet to have done it. Despite his straight posture and his chin held high and without fear, Freud knew that something was wrong. _

'_You're here, Phantom,' said Freud quietly in greeting, choosing to wait until Phantom was ready to say what he wanted to say. 'How are you faring?'_

_Phantom opened his mouth, fighting to get words out._

Freud feels Phantom's hand tighten further, so painfully tight that Freud gasps softly. He looks up, willing himself not to make any sound.

Phantom's eyes are locked on the Dragon Master and the Master Thief in front of them, but even from the side, Freud can see an unspeakable sorrow and regret dulling his usually bright eyes.

As if in a trance, the thief's lips move. Reciting the lines to a play he has watched too many times.

'_Aren't you afraid, Freud?' Phantom gritted out, bitterly and hesitantly, just loudly enough for the Dragon Master to hear._

'_I am not,' replies Freud. 'Are you?'_

Like the last living memory of his friend, played over in his mind too many times, come back to torment him once again.

'_How can you be so calm?' Phantom's hands were fisted by his sides, his knuckles whitened and strained. _

'_I am not afraid, Phantom. Because I know we would have done our best. In preparation, and during the actual war, later.' Freud pulled away from Afrien but left one hand on his scaly hide as if to continue drawing strength the dragon while he talked. _

_Phantom finally managed to sum up enough courage to meet Freud's eyes. Freud saw nothing but a deep abyss there, a crevasse where fear and haunted thoughts lurked. 'But there are so many things to be done! I haven't stolen enough for my name to be world renowned yet, I haven't seen the world _—_'_

'_Phantom,' murmured Freud gently. _

'_I haven't awed the world enough with my greatness yet _—_'_

'_Phantom.' _

'_Hell I haven't told you that I _—_' Phantom blinked, his voice trailing off into nothing, as if shocked by the very words that he was about to say. Freud watched as Phantom closed his mouth, swallowing the words and the lump in his throat with great difficulty. _

Phantom finds his heart pounding all over again. His breath hitches in his lungs. It's the same moment of weakness taking over him as it did those hundreds of years ago, those words, stuck in his throat. He knows the words. He knew the words, gods damn it he knew all along what he had planned to say. He had practiced so many times before, so why, why was it so hard, why couldn't he say those words —

I haven't told you that I loved you.

— and damn it all, now all he can do is watch, watch as Freud watched him try to right the wrongs he committed with Aria. Didn't he swear he would let Freud know, Freud of all people, know that he was loved?

'_Phantom,' Freud pulled away from Afrien and strode forward. He stopped a few paces away from the silent thief, his hands gently clasping his staff. 'There will be time, later on.' _

'_Will you take time off your busy schedule for me?' said Phantom, after a moment's hesitation. His voice was strained, but Freud could tell he was trying to sound as cheery as he usually did._

'_As much time as you want.' _

'_I'll fight the Black Mage for your life,' insisted Phantom weakly. 'No more stupid conferences or meetings or readings.'_

_Freud smiled, and nodded. _

'_Because it'd make you a very lame friend if I fought the world's greatest terror for you, only to have you unappreciative.'_

'_I know.'_

'_Think of all the things I've yet to do. I'm risking it all for you.'_

'_I know.'_

_Over in the distance, the low bellow of a horn rang out. The Knights got to their feet with a muted chatter, exchanging last words of encouragement. The Heroes too followed suit. Still Phantom and Freud stayed where they were. Between them hung the words they would perhaps never say to each other again, stifled in the silence that said too little and too much at once. _

'_We will meet again,' smiled Freud gently, extending his hand. _

_Phantom looked down, his deep purple eyes hidden under the shadow of his raven hat. _

_He took Freud's hand and gripped it firmly. _

'_Of course. Losing you would hurt more than losing a dear friend.'_

_Freud felt his eyes soften. _

'_I know.'_

_Phantom's hand tightened around Freud's. He looked down, sighing softly. Freud wanted to stay too, but fate was calling… and how could he refuse? It was the greatest battle of their lives, and the lives of everyone for generations. _

_Gently, Freud let go of Phantom's hand. The Thief kept his iron grip for a split second too long before pulling away, giving Freud a curt nod. Freud smiled and inclined his head in thanks, and then Phantom turned away, striding towards the other heroes. _

Freud watches the Dragon Master turn back to Afrien and help Mercedes onto the dragon's back. Phantom has torn his eyes away from the scene before them and is checking his cane impulsively, almost as if he's going to war.

He takes Phantom's wrist gently, squeezing it in encouragement. 'Come on, Phantom.'

Phantom nods stiffly, a mindless puppet's movement. Together they spread their wings, lifting into the air just as Afrien takes off, carrying the Dragon Master and the Elven Queen on his back. Freud glances occasionally back at Phantom, but the thief's eyes are blank, stony and cold.

'I don't remember what happens beyond this,' Phantom confesses, his voice strangled.

'Didn't you join them in battle?' Freud looks curiously at him.

'I…' Phantom averts his eyes. 'I don't know. I don't remember.'

'They always spoke of the five heroes facing the Black Mage…'

'I know. I just… I still don't know what happened in the final battle, and they expect me to have gone, but I… I don't know…'

Freud grips Phantom's wrist tighter. 'You're afraid of seeing how Freud died, for the second time.'

'Technically, it's my first,' Phantom smiles shakily, 'Because I don't even remember stepping foot into the Temple of Time.'

They break through the clouds, riding in Afrien's slipstream for easier flying. The two heroes on Afrien's back are silent, in anticipation for what's to come. The last of the clouds fall away to nothing but in the distance, seemingly resting on nothing but clouds, the Temple of Time looms up before them, grander and far more vast than the entirety of Orbis. It towers into the heavens, the spires blurring as if testing the boundaries of space itself. The stones shine holy white in the sun, the fine golden carvings on the pillars and the roofs glittering where the light caught them.

In a second, the skies turn from summer blue to dusk shades, a muted mixture of sickly orange and blood red that seems to appear out of nowhere. Moons hang like shattered silver platters, cracked and pulsing with strange ephemeral energy. The clouds that surround the temple and its spires are but warped, clotted blood clinging to the walls.

Space itself seems to bend as they approach, the towers crumbling in rapid succession, sprouting strange tumorous growths of blackened magma like dried blood, and chains snake around the pillars and slowly turn the pristine marble charcoal black, as if polluting the very stones there. The sky grows darker with still and the moons fade away, obscured by some unholy haze, leaving one wicked sickle gleaming dully in a bruised sky of mottled purples and blues.

Phantom pulls Freud to a stop. 'I can't,' he says suddenly.

As if triggered by his voice, an entire awning and section of heavy stone groaned before buckling upon itself in a thick cloud of smoke and ash. The sound ripples through the air and Freud can almost feel it on his skin, like the ghostly touch of a summer breeze.

Freud glances at Phantom. 'You know your friends won the war.'

'I know, but…' Phantom slowly pulls his hand away from Freud. 'I've lived my entire life telling myself… I tell myself, at least I didn't see Freud die.'

Phantom grits his teeth and turns away from the onyx dragon and its master.

'I don't think I can watch him go.'

_A distance away, Afrien landed in the middle of the bloodied clouds. Freud and Mercedes leaped off and the Dragon Master was quick to draw a simple glyph with his staff. Aran appeared in the midst of it, her cloak whipping about as if strewn by a winter gale. _

_She straightened and they exchanged glances, perhaps for the last time, before splitting ways. Freud led Mercedes into the temple, red robe billowing about him on a wind that wasn't really there, Afrien following carefully behind them both. _

'Why are you here then?'

Phantom casts a sidelong glance at him. 'What?'

'If you can't bear to watch Freud die, then what are you doing here?' Freud asks gently, studying the thief.

'I…' Phantom drops his gaze. His voice is strained and small in the whirling winds of time when he finally finds his tongue. 'I said I'd help you find your memories…'

Freud smiles and takes Phantom's hand again. Phantom's fingers stay limp inside his grip, but he squeezes it anyway, as tightly as he can.

'You have helped me more than I can ever thank you for,' murmurs Freud.

Phantom doesn't respond.

'Phantom.' Freud gently cups his hand around Phantom's chin and tilts his head upwards. He holds Phantom's harried gaze calmly, knowing the reason for the guilt and regret he saw in those deep irises. 'I know it's hard… but if there's anyone who needs to see the end of this war more than I do… it's you.'

Phantom closes his eyes, as if the words themselves pain him. Freud notices the blonde tilt his head just slightly, leaning into his hand for comfort as he continues talking.

'It's hard. It really is. And I will never be able to imagine what you're feeling now…' Freud gently rubs his thumb over Phantom's cheek, 'But the question of "What If" will always haunt you more.'

Phantom inhales quietly before whispering, 'What if I can't understand his last words? What if he dies with a scream? What if he dies all bloody and broken, what do I do then?'

Freud smiles.

'I'll explain his last words. I'll listen to _my_ last scream, with you.'

'But —'

'And if you know how he dies, and if you feel his pain,' Freud murmurs, 'You'd know how it feels like to be a guardian angel, then.'

Phantom opens his eyes.

Freud has never seen anyone haunted by these many demons.

'Only because you're here with me,' mutters Phantom.

_Afrien rumbled as Freud and Mercedes leap onto his back again, the passageway was too cluttered with the armour of temple guards and monks, some of the stretches of marble were too treacherous to cross. _

_The King of the Onyx Dragons spreaded his wings and took to the air, soaring down the winding corridors of the Temple of Time with ease. The Elven Queen readied her bowguns, checking that they were notched and infused with the right spells for what was surely a long and gruelling battle ahead._

_By the light of the sickly, waning moon, they flew onwards. _

_And the Dragon Master closed his eyes, taking a deep breath to calm the voices in his head and the stirring in his heart._

'_This is it,' he murmured under his breath to nobody in particular, or to the gaping silence all around, 'We meet our fate here.'_

_And they might all have been going for a leisurely stroll, or to the ocean to watch the tides cresting on the shore, for Freud smiled then. It was calm, satisfied, and knowing. Even as Afrien blasted the heavy doors open with his magic and the Black Mage rose into view, Freud kept smiling. _

_Then he laughed, a short bitter laugh that spoke of regrets and dreams he never got the chance to fulfill before this very moment._

_And amidst fires and flashes of magic, the war began._

* * *

**AN: **

School is catching up... updates, as you have already noticed, are slowing.

Once the crunchtime passes (oh and exams too damn it) I will continue. I intend to finish this even if it takes me a tooth and an arm.

In the meanwhile, I hope life is treating you all fine! Thanks for still sticking around :)


	12. Refrain

The Black Mage had always only been a name. It was one that heralded darkness, immeasurable corrupted power, ruthless as the raids that had been conducted in his stead. It was this name that every Hero had a reason to curse.

And it belonged to a single man, standing at the top of an otherworldly altar that floated in midair.

The first thing Freud saw was the orbs of unholy fire that were his eyes, two gateways to hell, enshrouded in shadow cast by more than a lack of light. That man, all but oozing evil, spread his arms in welcome, bony hands open and upturned in a scornful gesture of peace. A wicked gaping crevasse split his face open, a crooked smile that let forth echoing, thunderous laughter.

He had been expecting them?

Mercedes vaulted off Afrien's back, drawing her bowguns and taking aim. The sound of arrows ricocheting off marble and magic rang through the air in the background as the dragon breathed concentrated fire towards the ground. Freud knew the dragonfire would eat into the marble, forming an impenetrable wall of flame along one side of the hall and keeping those black, shadowy spectres at bay. He glanced around the hall, analysing its size and the best places to launch attacks from, ignoring the blasts of color and concentrated arrow rain that seemed poorly matched against black spurts of energy.

Chains seemed to materialise out of thin air from all directions, whipping quickly towards him. Without a word Afrien folded his wings and plummeted to the ground, narrowly missing the burning marble before a mighty flap of leathery wings drove them up higher. With gusts whipping all around him Freud turned, took aim and sent crackling bolts of electricity racing to meet the chains, the energy borne of storms disintegrating the chains one by one.

To his left, the Black Mage let out a strangely dissonant laugh, the sound was an oil slick in his mind and sent shivers through him. With the haunting, inhuman noise echoing in his ears, Freud defended Afrien's flight as the dragon curled up higher and higher towards the ceiling that was impossibly high, arching over the flashes of green and black below them before circling around the to other side of the hall, lining the edge with fire once more.

Freud kept a watchful eye on the Black Mage, watching his movement, trying to memorise the gestures of his hands as he summoned flare after flare of dark magic. More than that, he knew the Black Mage would target him above anyone else, because he had always been the tactician and strategist. And it was true. The plan would fail if he fell. For that Mercedes was first into the fray, buying time for Afrien to set up the stage that would be most conducive for dragon magic.

Mercedes's rapid fire attacks of arrows were neigh impossible to predict. With inhuman speeds tinged with the beauty of elven grace, she drew circles around the Black Mage, her keen marksman's eye aiming for the magic amulets and rings that would slowly break down his barriers. She was a bolt of spun gold, pirouetting like a dancer, effortlessly weaving through the Black Mage's attacks to land shots at his eyes, at his joints, tearing flecks off his heavy black robe.

She was fast and deadly but she could only keep this up for so long. Which was why with a bellow and a burst of cold air, the white spirit of a polar bear tore through the swarming spectres to the right of the hall.

Aran. Her long hair was a white wolf's tail that moved in tandem with her heavy strikes as she sunk the keen edge of her polearm into one hulking spectre, then the next. On the left side of the hall, Afrien's horns glowed before a beam of heavenly light engulfed one sinuous demon after another. Freud turned at the sound of a low roar to see the heavy paw of Aran's polar bear spirit clash against a black scythe, parrying the Black Mage's attacks blow for blow. Mercedes was everywhere, a cyclone of swirling leaves that pecked at the Black Mage's blind spots before he even knew it, chasing his movement with steady stream of arrows and vanishing moments before flames licked her way.

The Black Mage's eyes narrowed. Freud let out a shout of warning and the two warriors vaulted backwards, a gaping fissure in the marble opening like a wound. Dark, putrid energy burst forth, so dark it seared his eyes, so black it sucked the very light from the room.

But in the darkness, a tiny speck of glowing power still remained, its presence almost undetectable but nearly only just.

And Freud saw it — Rhine's power, a concentrated orb of holy light that flickered in protest at the darkness engulfing the great hall, obscured but not completely by the silhouette of the Black Mage upon his altar.

He sent a mental image to Afrien and the dragon immediately spreaded his wings, horns and wingtips flaring purple for a split second, a harsh note twisting from his jaws. The Black Mage stumbled from the blow of Afrien's anger and frustration, channeled into that invisible attack that was wrath for every single Onyx Dragon that had ever lived and died.

At the signal, Mercedes and Aran shared a glance and lunged at the Black Mage anew. Aran struck faster and faster, ice marking the path of her hungry polearm. The golden carvings on her polearm and the curved wicked bite were rimmed with ice that could cut through the fires sent her way. Freud sent bolts of holy energy forward, dissipating the black chains before they could reach the raging Hero, her livid eyes speaking more than her silence ever could as she swung and hacked at the scythe, jarring the Black Mage's momentum.

Mercedes was upon the Black Mage from one side and then the other, drawing his attention away from Aran. She struck faster and faster, taunting him, taunting him with the speed of greased lightning. There were gleaming arrows sticking out at awkward angles where they'd embedded in his robes, visible as he whirled around to swing another blackened sword at the elven queen. But his attack never connected for he was sent reeling under the force of a fenrir that tore deliriously at his other flank.

Mercedes landed on the ground for the first time, standing stock still as the Black Mage turned to her.

'No human can possibly match up to the speed of an elf,' she smirked, 'Not even you with all your power.'

'How dare you.'

'I'm not afraid of you,' smiled Mercedes with all the grace of an Elven Queen, 'I won't ever be afraid of you, because I'm fighting for a world of peace.'

The entire hall jarred as the Black Mage screamed with rage, sending cracks running across the marble, gashes that pulsed with energy from another dimension. Aran lifted her polearm, a feminine ice spirit materialising behind her, freezing all the water in the room to form lethal needles of ice, tiny little blades that could penetrate bone.

Freud gripped his staff, working down a dry knot in his throat as Aran and Mercedes rushed the Black Mage simultaneously.

'Goddess of time, Rhine — lend me your power!'

The little orb of light behind the Black Mage glowed.

As Freud gripped his staff with both hands and lifted it, the Black Mage's eyes burned with anger as his gaze shifted from the two Heroes, and then focusses solely on Freud. And Freud felt a cold shiver run down his spine and into his gut as the entirety of the Black Mage's hatred turned on him.

Biting back his fear, he slammed his staff down on the ground.

And time stopped.

Freud inhaled sharply, tearing his eyes away. Nobody should ever need to stare into the face of something so vile and corrupted. The dragon insignia on his right palm throbbed almost painfully, still glowing the same holy white as Rhine's power. He glanced at his dragon, whose eyes were half closed as he bit back the pain that he was surely feeling.

'Ready, Afrien?'

_Always, Master._

He leaped onto Afrien's arm and the dragon glided quickly over to the right side of the hall. The Black Mage was an unmoving behemoth, a snarling demon, far greater than he initially was and now towering over the two Heroes at the foot of the altar. Aran's polearm seemed weightless in her stance, the beginning of a mighty arc that guided the path of a phoenix spirit, all icy feathers and frostbite. Her strike would surely weaken the dark magic barriers sufficiently for Mercedes's attack to land. A horde of crimson unicorn spirits that looked like crystals charged forward, suspended in animation while their ruler stood with bowguns poised and ready.

In the utter and complete silence, it was difficult to believe that the greatest war in history wasn midway, even easier to believe that time was on their side.

But Freud knew better. Time was their enemy, now.

He stumbled as he landed on the ground, nearly losing his footing. Rhine's power was so immense, pulsing in the air and in the frozen time, so fierce that it seemed to compress his skull into itself and shifted his focus and balance. Freud gave himself a moment, closing his eyes and taking deep breaths to clear his mind, knowing he'd need clarity of thought to complete his next task.

_Master_, rumbled Afrien beside him. The cool, polished scales of Afrien's muzzle pressed against his palm, and almost immediately some of the fatigue slipped away.

'Afrien.' Freud smiled gently, thankfully, drawing a few more breaths before pulling away.

The king of the Onyx Dragons would know, could feel, his strain already. But they both knew that duty had to be done.

_Shall we, Master?_ The two orbs of liquid sun were calm, but the catlike slits for pupils betrayed Afrien's nervousness.

Freud turned to his dragon, a fond smile on his face. Gently, he traced up the worn ridges of the dragon's scales, fingers darting across the scars from battles that seemed so, so long ago, and rested his hand on the golden insignia on his forehead.

He flitted his hand over the circular marking there. Afrien seemed to melt at the touch, letting his eyes flutter shut, and Freud could feel his heartbeat slowing from the rapid pounding it had been earlier.

The coiling tail of the dragon insignia, the twisting of its scales flowing from one to another like calligraphy, the proud arch of its neck. The two wings framing it, making it a perfect circle. He ran his fingers down each of them, risking his time because his dragon needed it right now. 'Afrien. We have prepared for this moment since we met, and we will do fine.'

Afrien rumbled again, turning his mighty horned head to press against his palm.

'We will finish the insignias, we will seal the Black Mage away once and for all, and protect the world. Then your race, and your Queen, can rest in the knowing that you have succeeded for them.'

_You always knew what best to say,_ Afrien chuckled quietly before opening his eyes. His pupils were back to their original size, no longer the terrified slits they had been earlier.

'I try my best.' Freud patted the dragon's muzzle again. 'Now… ready for the incantation?'

Afrien gave a slight nod and pulled away, rearing up to rest on his hind legs. The dragon let out a low rumble that reverberated around the hall and Freud could feel the dragon quieting the thoughts in his mind, just as he had done earlier.

_I am. _

'Then let us begin.'

Freud took his position in front of Afrien and raised his staff. The words flowed from his mouth, familiar after weeks and weeks of gruelling practice, the breath leaving his tongue with a queer aftertaste, like his very words were imbued with raw energy.

The ground glowed. Freud shifted his hand up, and there was a flash of light before energy rose out of the marble, coiling upon itself before bursting forth and taking the form of feathered wings. The incantation took on a strange slant, the words growing more convoluted, and Freud knew it was describing the need for sacrifice, for blood, for payment in the name of peace. It was this dark knowledge that took the shape of a glistening gem at the top, a diamond drenched in blood, a prize in the midst of death.

His breath was coming short, and Freud was trying his hardest not to stumble on the unnatural syllables. Afrien's power and focus were waning as well, the strain taking its toll on them both, but still he gritted on, forcing the syllables out with the correct intonation and speed, doggedly continuing until he had finished the last word.

With a gasp of relief and a sharp inhalation of breath, Freud stumbled backwards and watched the sigil gleam in the darkness, looking for all the world like a stake to pin down this terrible evil, the first of the five beacons of hope for the future.

_Master, your eyes… _Afrien was righting him with his claws, studying him intently. _They're bloodshot_.

Freud lowered his head and rubbed a hand quickly across each one to check if they were bleeding freely. They weren't. But if a single sigil could take out so much energy from him, and they still had five more…

No human was meant to stand in the presence of a Transcendent's power for so long, much less wield and use it.

'I'm fine for now. Let's quickly move on to the next one.'

They glided over to the other far end of the hall. Gently reassuring Afrien that he was going to be alright, he readied his staff and waited for Afrien to compose himself before beginning. Another flare of energy and another burst of light later, the sigil pulsed holy energy as the bloodied diamond gleamed and reflected its light in the darkness.

The dragon's breathing was laboured and Freud could hear it as they took their places in front of the Black Mage's altar. The third sigil belonged at the base of the steps, just beyond reach of the creeping tendrils of putrid energy that leaked out towards them. Mercedes was to his right and Aran to his left, and the Dragon Master stole another moment to recall the times of joy he had spent with them both before lifting his staff to begin.

There was a fierce throbbing at the base of his head by the time they were done. Warmth flowed down his lip. Alarmed, he pressed the back of his hand against his nose to hold back what he knew to be blood.

'My nose is bleeding,' he chuckled weakly to Afrien.

_Our demise, _Afrien blurted out abruptly, eyes resigned and slightly faraway, _It is coming_.

Freud turned to Afrien with a small smile. His red glove hid the bloodstain well. 'Don't be silly, Afrien. We will always be together.'

_I feel it in my bones._ Afrien rumbled sadly, averting his eyes.

'Your bones are wrong, then. You're growing old. Retirement is in order. How about that? A nice field with flowers and snow that isn't too hot or to cold, for you to just doze the day away.'

Together they glided over to the space between the first and third sigil, diagonal to the Black Mage's altar. Afrien laughed quietly. The dragon did love to nap.

_You really do know best, Master._

Freud patted the dragon's shoulder before leaping off. After another moment's concentration, another sigil was erected in the space. The fourth seal. But it was blurry, and no matter how Freud blinked he couldn't clear the fuzz that was obscuring his vision.

He choked back a cough with difficulty, knowing what would come up. His insides felt ravaged and he was weak. Nothing he could've done prior to this battle would ever have prepared him for the strain he was feeling, or the sheer intensity of the effort it would require of him and his spirit companion.

'The… The last…' Freud held up a hand and Afrien let him lean on his arm for support. Both their breaths were coming short now.

Carefully, Afrien scooped him up in his claws and hurriedly flew over to the final remaining spot on the other diagonal of the altar. He was grateful that Afrien held him for a moment more before letting him stand up on his own, for he wasn't sure how long more his legs would hold him up.

_One final one_, rumbled the dragon weakly. Freud nodded and raised his staff. He was so, so worn. But this was going to be his final service to the Heroes, to their cause, and for the world they had been fighting so hard to defend. And he was going to complete it.

The words came, haltingly at first as they were every time, but the sensation of that power running through his veins was familiar now. Freud welcomed it, even, as he shaped the gleaming staff and pulled forth wings from the top, imbuing it with the desperation and sheer hope for the future —

A shard of ice cut his cheek. Noise besieged his senses, but even in the searing wounds of biting ice that were opening up all over his skin, Freud forced himself to continue, using the last of his reserves of energy to hold Afrien's focus in place just before it wavered.

They had run out of time.

Desperately, but careful to keep the stately pace he needed to complete the incantation, he fought back the pain and forced words through his chattering teeth.

He had to finish it. He had to.

The temperature plummeted all around him and he could feel the Black Mage's fury as he turned away from the seeking polearm and darting elven queen, rounding upon him.

They were too close to the altar. But sometimes sacrifices had to be made.

A red flare accompanied the formation of that bloodied diamond, crimson energy beginning to condense and coalesce, forming the very tip —

His focus snapped as Afrien broke the link, the sudden shock of it making his knees buckle. He found himself cradled in Afrien's claws as the dragon flew him backwards, and his vision focused in time to see a wicked blast of devilish fire engulf the spot he had been standing on just a moment before.

_Master_, Afrien gasped, looking down at him. The dragon had umpteen little cuts opened across the thick leather of his hides, and he was panting, eyes dimmed from exertion. The floor rocked under his feet as Afrien set him down, leaning heavily against Afrien's flank.

Had he pushed them both too far?

_We didn't manage to complete it_, said Afrien, turning back to the two Heroes just as the Black Mage let out another triumphant laugh, the fifth sigil crumbling in the face of such foul energy.

Freud gritted his teeth, barely able to meet the glances of Aran and Mercedes. The scorch marks of the unicorn spirits were seared all over the ground. They had missed their mark. There was a gash in the Black Mage's robes, but he was still moving and channeling energy, unfazed to the blow.

A moment's more of searching and the Black Mage focused on Freud.

Time speeded up as a dark burst of flame lunged his way.

Freud raised his staff but a sharp stab of pain to his gut had him doubling over, and the only thing he could do was watch as the dark energy writhed around Afrien's massive body and lifted him into the air. It tightened, the dragon's sleek frame contorted into cruel angles, the Dragon Master letting out a howl of his own as his companion's searing pain took over his mind.

A shadow grew over him in the shape of an Onyx dragon, and then there was nothing but darkness and the sound of breaking bones.

Freud lay there for a moment, in perfect bliss. Everything was golden, ethereal, towering cloud pillars and bright light. It was so, so peaceful. All the pain had gone. The noise and the cold had faded away too. He could have lain there forever.

Oh, yes. He had blacked out at the last possible moment with a battle to the death. It was fuzzy but he remembered Aran and Mercedes. Phantom and Luminous weren't here yet, it seemed.

He retraced the battle in his mind. He recalled the two attackers, the frostbite phoenix and fenrirs, the thundering unicorns and arrows. And he recalled that bout of frozen time, the four sigils.

Four.

Ah, so it seemed his job was not yet done. Just thinking about returning to that place of inescapable pain made his heart drop. But it was his destiny after all, and his duty to the world.

His arm moved strangely, like it wasn't really his. Slowly, he brought it back up to his heart, taking a while to remember Afrien's magic but it was familiar and comforting when he finally did, and he was grateful for its reassuring presence inside him.

Slowly, a little orb like amber began to materialise in his palm. He'd seen it before, it had a single golden feather inside it, like that of an angel. It was the last of the links he had to his dragon.

To think he'd have to use the soul stone after all.

He came to in a mist of blue, a pleasant but strange buzz running through him and he recognised the Onyx dragon's healing breath. But it was far weaker than it usually was. And even with Afrien's form curled protectively around him he couldn't seem to draw energy from his presence, or stop his eyes watering from the pain that suddenly seared through his entire being.

He and Afrien were spent.

'Hello again, Afrien,' he murmured weakly. The dragon headband was on the ground beside him, dented where it had fallen and Afrien had crushed it with his weight. Both crystal wings had snapped in half. And further on lay his staff, the gem cracked as well.

_Master_, whispered Afrien in reply. _You're alive._

'Of course I am. Don't be silly.' Freud dulled the pain and pushed it into a corner of his mind and sat up, carefully testing each limb for broken bones. 'Just some broken ribs, and probably a cracked leg bone.'

_Y-You are not. You _died_. How can you not see where you have been hurt —_

'I'm _fine_, Afrien.' Freud smiled at the dragon, who narrowed unfocused eyes at him. Carefully, he worked the headband back into shape and fitted it back on his hair. 'We're not going to lose this war.'

And even before he had finished the words, there was a loud crash that sent two prone forms skidding across the hall. Freud struggled to his feet, eyes widening as he looked upon the bruised and bloodied bodies of Aran and Mercedes. The whistling of air caught his attention and he watched as Aran's polearm spun lazily through the air toward her. He focused and sent a blast of air its way, propelling the heavy weapon it off its course so it embedded its wicked curved blade just a few inches shy of her. Mercedes's bowguns came clattering down soon after, one of them snapping in midair as it ricocheted off the ground.

Freud tried a step forward but his leg trembled. Afrien pulled himself to his feet and carried him over to his fallen comrades' sides, as the Black Mage whirled on the shimmering orb of Rhine's power behind him.

Mercedes had a dark gash over her midriff, though there was no blood he could tell right away that it was dark magic. Aran's legs were bent in horrific angles and another similar, gaping wound across her chest. He couldn't risk healing the two even if he had the energy to because it'd give the Black Mage time to take the last of Rhine's power and corrupt her completely.

But though he was spent, he still had one last weapon.

He turned away from Aran and Mercedes and pressed up against Afrien, whose eyes were wide with fear. Tapping on the mental link they shared he walked them both through Afrien's memories.

_Fires in the deepest forests of Leafre, a hulking mass of demonic energy towering above the trees, flanked by spectres of all kinds. And pinned against the ground were dragons, of all sizes, scales of midnight blue and golden ridges and horns, their eyes fiery yellow and beseeching. _

_The smell of charring wood, of the rain, of dragon blood spurting into the air. The sounds of gurgling on blood and rainwater, the inhuman shrieks of pain, the haunting laughter of the Black Mage. _

_The feeling of anger, and despair, and helplessness, vast and wide and unforgiving. _

Afrien let out a harrowed roar that shook dust from the pillars. It was the second time in Freud's life that he had ever felt such an intense shock of emotions from the great Onyx Dragon but he embraced it like his own, a nightmare of the darkest shades as he raised his staff. Grey clouds rolled in from nowhere and everywhere, flashes of lightning crackling across the sky, the manifestation of Afrien's greatest regrets and fears.

The dragon had tears flowing freely, his muzzle lifted to the storm that flashed and thundered above him as it had that very same day he had laid the last of his kingdom to rest. Freud met the eyes of the Black Mage, letting his fear and doubts of the mission, of the alliance, of everything he had ever done, regrets of what he would never do, and guilt from the mistakes he had made — all of it traversed from his mind and through his arm and into his staff. Their emotions made for a better weapon than all of his logic.

And he wasn't afraid to use it.

The Dragon Master and his Onyx Dragon let out another scream as purple bolts tore from the sky, striking fierce wounds into the marble, into the altar, into the folds of the Black Mage's robes. He watched in bitter satisfaction as their fear and anger tore through the barrier weakened by the two heroes, tearing apart his form. It was in the strange ethereal light that Freud finally saw the deep gashes that Aran and Mercedes had left across his form. They had made their mark.

Carefully, he reined in their negative energy and the lightning to strike each of the sigils in turn, imbuing them with additional energy so nobody could travel back in time to undo the seals, spitting the incantation for the final one with vengeance upon his tongue. It didn't even matter that the Black Mage heard and began his assault on him anew. Afrien merely struck down the chains and the scythes with raw energy torn from the clouds, and the new seal burst forth, its shaft, its wings, the bloodied diamond. With frenzied rage Freud screamed the words like they were curses of the Black Mage's name until they were done.

The five sigils gleamed in unison. All that was left was to activate them all at once, and the war would be over.

The Black Mage took a cautious step backwards as Freud strode forward, pain and exhaustion forgotten. He was a terror to behold, robes of fluttering blood billowing out behind him as lightning crackled overhead. The dented headband and broken staff spoke of the price he had to pay to be here at this moment, yet he still strode forward, cold resolve in his eyes like the knowledge that he was going to meet his death. In his wake was a snarling dragon of midnight hues, the golden insignia burning brighter than any fire, blood trickling freely down the pattern and marking their final steps.

'Fool,' snarled the Black Mage, as Freud forced him back, into the semi-circle framed by the five sigils. Onyx dragon magic and lightning flared in the folds of the clouds. 'You will never be able to stop the likes of me.'

'You have done enough,' murmured Freud, coming to a halt before the first sigil at the front of the altar. 'Your reign of terror ends here.'

'On the contrary.' The Black Mage smiled suddenly and raised his hand.

The stormclouds rumbled, the lightning turning from searing purple to pitch black.

And the Black Mage began to suck away the power in the room.

Freud dropped to his knees, mouth opened in a silent gasp of pain as the Black Mage wrapped all the negative energy and emotions around his own, reeling it into his control. It was as if blood itself was pulled through his veins, the way his power was drained from him by this unmatchable evil.

'Dear Freud. Surely you did not intend to use your fear against _me_.'

Behind him came a groan and the floor shook as Afrien sank against the ground. The edge of his vision was growing blurry from lack of air as the Black Mage let out a laugh. Freud had walked into his trap and now his power was being drained away, slowly but surely. He fought to keep the Black Mage's mind at bay but it was neigh impossible, not when he was in the middle of the room at the most concentrated point of all that power.

'I _am_ fear, little Hero.'

The Black Mage smiled wider, and a bolt of dark lightning struck the ground just in front of Freud. His focus wavered, he couldn't hold on much longer.

'It would be good for you to learn that before I take your life.'

A concentrated point of light appeared between him and the Black Mage. There was only enough time for the mage's eyes to widen before that light burst outwards in all directions and the dimension that was once overtaken by darkness seemed to shift and buckle in the sheer amount of light filling the room, as the Light Mage made his appearance.

The snowy haired mage was hovering in the air, his ice blue eyes cold as hell frozen over, gleaming with promise of judgement. The great hall, once filled to brimming with the Black Mage's putrid aura, was now filled with a different aura, calm and holy and _good_.

The Black Mage let out a scream, his barriers lowered for those few seconds to consume Freud and his dragon's power, and it was in this moment of greed that Luminous appeared to deal the final blow. Flakes of the temple fell like ash, darkness that was powerless in the light, as he wielded his shining rod and began his assault on the weakened Black Mage.

Freud shuffled clumsily over to his fallen dragon, anxious to know he was alright. Afrien let out a weak moan and turned to him, blood flowing freely from a wound between his golden horns.

'Freud would never make such a grave mistake,' snarled Luminous as he ducked and dodged between dimensions of light and shadow, expertly maneuvering past the thick chains that snaked at him from all directions. 'You'll never defeat our strategist, unholy scum.'

'I will teach you the true extent of my power,' snarled the jarring voice from behind its robe. Spears of blinding light energy thudded into the black robes and actually pulled a _scream _from the wizard, he could not move fast enough to react in time to the furious onslaught of attacks.

And Freud knew this, he knew it as Luminous chased after the Black Mage, attacking faster and faster, with more and more furor. It had been his plan all along to make it seem that the last attack up his sleeve was that of emotion - it was true, but it had been a lure for the Black Mage and he had taken the bait, hook line and sinker.

Freud curled around Afrien, the two of them fighting to draw breath. A hand laid on Afrien's sigil lent them both the strength they so desperately needed, now - that display of emotional energy had taken out all but the last, final bit of magic both of them had, and they were both running dry.

'Luminous,' gasped Freud.

Somehow, the Light Mage heard. With a growl and a wave of his shining rod he opened up a portal of light and sent unadulterated energy searing against the Black Mage, who howled to hell as he opened another gash in the marble and pulled forth those dark flames, forming a temporary wall of flame to defend himself.

The battle was near over.

_Luminous. You must purify Rhine's energy._ _Purify it and activate the five seals, Afrien and I are too weak -_

Through the mental image that Freud sent him, he felt a wave of the Light Mage's horror. _That is near impossible. You are the only one who knows the incantation._

Afrien let out a low whine, unable to help himself, his pupils had turned back into slits as he laboriously fought for breath. Freud shot back, _If we could, we would have by now. The two of us are wholly and utterly spent. _

_But I cannot possibly… _

The room shook and it only took another tendril of dark energy racing towards Luminous to make him disappear and force him to teleport. Freud's eyes widened as the last barrier between the fallen Heroes and the Black Mage vanished.

That leering smile was turned upon him again.

'Freeeuuud… you owe me your dragon,' came a disjointed half-shriek, half-purr, leaking evil in its sing-song demeanor as the Black Mage let out a crazed laugh.

He raised his sinewy hand, and an arc of dark magic burst outwards towards them all. The unholy flare of energy grew nearer and nearer, energy so foul and corrupted that Freud didn't doubt it could kill him in one touch.

Freud couldn't help but laugh too, in helplessness and in despair. He was too weak to move, to spent to block it. He had fought time for the entire duration of the battle and he had lost in the end. His time was up, the remaining few precious seconds ticking away as he slumped dumbly against Afrien, watching the last of his time get burned away by the all-devouring fire of the Black Mage as his death loomed closer to him.

His head connected with the floor, the support behind him suddenly gone. With a yelp his vision was full of nothing but onyx dragon blue.

No. Freud sat up, head pounding, eyes widening and trying to scream for his dragon. Afrien was going to -

The fires connected with dragon scales, soaring over him completely as Afrien curled around him with the last of his strength and took the hit for him, letting out a sharp cry of anguish as his battered body took another direct blow. Freud screamed as Afrien's presence in his mind grew weaker still, the flame of a dying candle in the midst of a thunderstorm.

He didn't remember what he was screaming as he fought his way over to the dragon that slumped motionless on the ground around him. It was just silence in his mind. A whited out space. Static,

and a mess of thoughts of _no, no please, please, please no, please no no no_

Afrien's eyes were completely glazed over. His breaths came weak and faint, his pupils swivelled blindly until Freud set a shaking palm against his cheek, then they settled on the space Afrien thought he was in. Freud might have been making the most strangled sounds in the world for all he knew, his dragon was dying, and it was because of him, it was his fault, he couldn't protect his spirit partner -

- _The incantation, scholar!_

Freud looked up, vision watery. The words cut into him like ice. Through his tears and the blinding, blinding pain he focused on a white silhouette that was unsteady on his feet, a black gash across his center, pulsing with the same magic that had struck his dragon.

_The incantation. Give me the incantation._

But Afrien was just lying there, his breath getting colder and colder, he was _dying_, and he needed the time to heal him, but the sigils, the seals, the Black Mage -

_Master_. The weak thought made him snap his head down, cradling the dragon's broken muzzle in his arms, was Afrien actually smiling? Crying? Both? _Master… do what needs to be done._

No man could function with only half a soul -

_Give me the incantation, Freud. I will activate the seals myself. Freud, Now! _

Black blood was appearing in splatters on the marble, dripping freely from Luminous's wound as he tore through the air, renewing the attacks on the Black Mage, who was equally as worn and merely doing all he could to stay alive.

Freud gritted his teeth and pressed a long and lingering kiss against the golden insignia on his forehead, he could feel the dragon's blood staining his face and wetting his hair.

_It has always been an honor, Master, _chuckled Afrien weakly, bringing a claw to nudge gently against Freud's trembling form.

'Wait for me, Afrien. Don't sacrifice yourself for me.' Freud struggled to his feet, using his broken staff to push himself upwards.

He almost reeled under the last of the power that Afrien transferred to him from his failing body. It would sustain him for a while more, surely it would be enough to fuel the spell. Ignoring the protests from his body he gripped his staff, drew the mental link with Luminous, and began.

He felt Luminous's mouth twist and contort to form the words, felt his discomfort like it was his own as the magic rushed through his being, drew energy from the reservoir of light energy before sending it bursting forth. They tapped on Rhine's power once again, destabilizing the very plane of existence. Each of the five sigils gleamed with her power, a perfect arc forming around the altar, trapping the screaming Black Mage within.

The air pulsed with the overwhelming light energy and the Black Mage howled louder, tendrils sneaking out from under his robe as he lunged for the glowing seal that was materialising around him.

Luminous snapped the link off and Freud collapsed onto the ground, blood pouring out his nose again from utilizing such godlike magic without his dragon's assistance. It took a while to spot the Light Mage, a fleck of white pressed up against a raging behemoth of black, but he could hear Luminous scream with the exertion of channeling his light magic against the evil that was desperately trying to escape.

Then he saw it. The black tendrils creeping up Luminous's arm, coiling around him, the same kind that had strangled Afrien midway through the battle. He tried to call out for Luminous to pull away but it was too late, the man's eye was turning red and those horrific black fires were consuming him and eating away at his light magic.

It seemed like the battle would take away something from everyone, this time.

With one last effort, Freud lifted his staff and took aim. It felt like he'd been giving his "last" one too many times already, he mused distractedly before shooting a bolt of holy magic towards Luminous, his aim still as true as the moment he marched on to war. The much needed boost seemed to snap Luminous from his trance and with a haunting scream that sounded too much like the Black Mage's, the snowy haired magician had slammed his weapon straight over the crack, sending a shockwave reverberating through the entire temple.

And everything went white.

:

* * *

:

When the glare finally faded, which seemed like an entire eternity and then some, the hall was bathed in a pleasant blue that reminded Freud so much of the first dawn of winter. And rightly so, there was black ash raining down like fluffy snow, coating his staff and his tattered red robes.

His eyes widened as the immensity of what he had just gone through hit him. The battle… and…

The pain hit him like a stone. He sat up urgently, looking for Afrien, but he let out a cry as his broken ribs dug into his lungs. There was blood all over the marble and brown dried stains everywhere on his robes as he scrambled for his staff, the weight reassuring in his grip.

He looked up.

The sigils were all glowing. The barrier, an insignia of a maple leaf, the five-pointed leaf with a stalk, shone gloriously in the center like it was carved there, gleaming steel chains draped across the entire altar. In its center were flecks of black fabric, impressions of dark shadows where the Black Mage's body had withered in on itself in the face of the holy magic, but his silhouette there was unmistakable.

The seal was in place. They had done it.

Freud stared in disbelief for a long while before bursting into laughter, falling back against the ground in the snowy, sooty ash, smiling in relief at the scorch marks on the domed ceiling and the flakes that kept fluttering down onto his skin, so cold it burned like fire.

He was so, so tired.

He lay there a while more before slowly getting up, gritting back the pain. It was getting harder and harder to do that each time, he thought to himself. He looked around, admiring the blue nebulas that floated past them like specks of milky paint across an indigo canvas, before closing his eyes and focusing.

Yes. Rhine's power was still here, the last figment of it. He dropped the barriers of his mind to coax it to him, gathering it in his fingers.

'Goddess… If I may please borrow just a little bit more.'

The orb in his hand pulsed once, but remained where it was.

Gently, he removed the tiniest of slivers and turned to channel it towards each of the four blocks of ice studded around the room. Rhine's magic would heal them slowly, for the entire time that they slept, so they would wake as they were right as day, a hundred years, or perhaps two hundred years later.

A pity he wouldn't be able to survive that long.

Luminous. Mercedes. Aran. They looked like they were asleep, even though they were sealed in cursed ice that he had never encountered before. Their faces were free of pain. Gently, he whispered his thanks to Mercedes for opening the battle so fearlessly, thanked Aran for clearing the room of spectres and making sure no more slipped in, thanked Luminous for his help in saving the last dregs of his mind and activating the seals so necessary to bring them to where they were at that moment.

Afrien.

Freud released the last of the energy, watched it dissipate and he knew it would go back to its original owner. The power felt warm in his palm, and for that he was sure Rhine was a very powerful, caring, and beautiful Transcendent.

Then he carefully picked himself off the ground and stumbled towards his dragon.

The mighty king was curled tail to nose, eyes closed with his wings draped over his back. If Freud squinted hard enough, he might have just been lying in the first snow of winter and dozing like a huge cat, enjoying the feeling of snowflakes flitting gently across his scales. But Freud knew better.

He made his way closer and reached a hand out to steady himself against the ice before lowering himself gingerly to the ground on his good leg. He leaned against the ice, in the same spot that he would if Afrien wasn't encased in ice - in the nook of the dragon's arm. It felt strange to be so close to the Onyx dragon but not be able to feel his presence, or to be able to run his fingers across the cool scales, and instead feel the ice biting into his back, the cold seeping through the thick layer of his robes.

He reached a hand to adjust the dragon headband properly, it kept feeling like it would fall at any moment. And he so wanted to keep it on.

But it was just a cold winter day, with snow and ice all around, in a world that was safe and peaceful at last.

'Afrien…' Freud smiled, the calm on his face finally matching what he felt inside. 'I wonder how you're feeling now. Are you breathing? Or dreaming? Can you even hear me at all? It must be nice to sleep without dreams, right? Some days I hear you growling in your sleep. Pity I never asked you about it before.'

Every word seemed to take away a bit of his strength. But he was so tired, and he really couldn't fight back now that his duty was fulfilled. And he really wanted to drown out the silence ringing in his ears. His blabbering would keep him awake, anyway. Watching the snow was nice if he couldn't watch the clouds.

'To think we finally did it. At last. Well, we didn't kill him like we swore he would. But now we know his true power, and the four of you can prepare yourselves better for the next time he wakes up. It's such a shame the world will have to face his terror once more.'

Freud chuckled weakly, bringing the back of his hand to wipe at his nose. His glove was tattered too. The dragon insignia showed up where it was torn. 'Hey, you big lug. I hope you can hear me there. It was truly an honor fighting by your side. Don't ever forget it. I wouldn't have made it so far without you here. Your queen would be very happy.

'And your son, too. He'll meet a great Master later on, when the time comes. They'll be great together. Mir's friend will have the time of his life, seeing new things… taking care of a weaning Onyx hatchling.' Freud laughed and patted the ice behind him. 'I can't imagine what a terror you were last time, your highness.'

He took a deep breath. Somehow the snow didn't seem to be ending any time soon, it just kept falling, and falling, and falling, oblivious to the pains they had just gone through, covering him slowly in blackish specks and leaving a layer on top of the other chunks of ice.

'Five of us… we make a good team.' Freud hummed, content. 'Do you and I count as one, Afrien? I don't think we do. But we're still one short.'

The last of the Heroes had missed the entire fight.

'For sure… Luminous will have his hide later on.' Freud closed his eyes and mimicked the haughty tone of the light mage, '_And where were you the entire time we were risking our necks out on the battlefield, you pesky little thief?_'

He fell silent then, contemplating their situation dazedly. 'If he's not here… then he's not frozen in ice?' He felt his brows knit. 'He won't live to see the rest of you, then.'

There was a pang in his chest greater than any pain he had felt thus far. Maybe it was that Afrien wasn't there to soften the emotional blow, or that the thought of Phantom languishing away silently without the other Heroes by his side was simply too unbearable, but it hurt him to his core.

'Call me crazy… but I can't help thinking that you're just nearby and you'll appear round the corner in a second.' Freud lifted his eyes tiredly, scanning the great hall once, but he knew better, of course he knew better. Phantom wouldn't be here and not take part in the entire battle at all. Phantom couldn't be here.

'How silly of me…' Freud exhaled and closed his eyes. 'You feel so near, Phantom. I can't be wrong on this… We were so close, before. I've seen enough of your sorry, thieving hide to know that it's you from a mile away.'

But of course, Phantom couldn't have been nearby.

'I just hope you're safe,' he whispered.

Oh, how he wished he could hear Phantom murmur his name in the dark of night one last time.

He opened his eyes and he was in the middle of a grassy plain, slumped against a tree and watching two figures stride into the tall grass. It was him and Phantom, the Master Thief had him by the wrist and was leading him happily into the glade, pulling a red-and-white tablecloth and a picnic basket from thin air and setting it down.

Had so little time passed since their last meal? He watched the Freud and Phantom bicker, watched the Freud set down his mayonnaise-filled sandwich and pick up an apple, watched the Phantom sulk before thrusting his sandwich out.

It was just a mess of words running through his mind, he was hearing static and the pounding of blood in his ears rather than hearing Phantom's voice. It was all he could do to fit words to his moving lips and imagine the melodious intonations of his speech, a beautiful sound that was rich like honey.

A blink and the scene was replaced with the dark of night, a shade that was too dark for his liking, now. But framed in the windowsill was a Phantom, holding a red card in his fingers, tossing it to him.

He was slumped in the chair at his desk, watching the muted exchange, fighting to remember the words, why couldn't he remember any words? He remembered the raw wound that gleamed in Phantom's amethyst eyes, remembered vowing there and then that he would do everything in his power to fix him and remind him that there was still love in the world yet.

Freud smiled blearily as the Phantom spread his cape and whipped it around himself, sending a spray of cards forward to mask his bitter smirk. Definitely a Phantom who was so very fond of sleight of hand and fancy tricks.

And then he was gone. The summer sun beat down harshly on them from above. Freud rested his weary head against a rocky outcrop beside a lake as he watched a Freud lead a grumbling Phantom through a patch of bushes. The Freud pointed out plants and berries, the shapes of leaves, glittering dew on waxy leaves that shouldn't remain in the heat.

Then after they walked out of sight, and after the sky turned to a rosy orange, movement, before a Phantom tore by with an Afrien hot on his tail, followed later by a Freud who laughed all the way home.

Heat consumed a Freud's insides as he tossed and turned in bed. Freud watched with bated chuckles from his desk as a Phantom hurried in and out of his bedroom, trying to stuff him silly with medicine, replacing the cloth on his head more times than was necessary.

And still soundless even though they were tinkering at a piano, a Phantom pressed up against a Freud, their nimble fingers stumbling over black and white keys. Freud smiled in the imaginary concerto as the Freud all but lunged at the Master Thief, playing his fingers down the buttons and then the bare of his ivory chest, marking each other over the piano bench.

And in another room of the Lumiere, a Freud leaning into a soft couch as he read, and a Phantom had his head in his lap, looking up and playing with the Freud's soft auburn hair while he swung his feet to and fro off the couch. Freud watched as the afternoon light turned to a glorious sunset, the golden light filtering through the elaborate stained glass and casting broken myriads of dreams and constellation patterns across the floor.

The night sky, the cool breeze, as a Freud and Phantom sat looking over the edge of a cliff, the indigo hues pinned to the heavens by diamonds big and small. Their hands were side by side, almost touching but not quite as they sat in silence for once, admiring the soft lights that shimmered and danced so far away.

A pallid, midday sun. He was sitting upright now, noise was filtering through his senses and there wasn't a hint of pain left, any more. Everything was brighter, sharper, crystal clear. He watched as a Phantom glared daggers at a Freud.

'Will you take time off your busy schedule for me?'

'As much time as you want.'

'I'll fight the Black Mage for your life,' insisted the Phantom weakly. 'No more stupid conferences or meetings or readings.'

The Freud nodded.

'Because it'd make you a very lame friend if I fought the world's greatest terror for you, only to have you unappreciative.'

'I know.'

'Think of all the things I've yet to do. I'm risking it all for you.'

'I know.'

The muffled sound of a horn rang through the air.

'We will meet again,' smiled the Freud gently, extending his hand.

The Phantom looked down, hiding the two beautiful treasures that were his eyes, before taking the Freud's hand firmly. 'Of course. Losing you would hurt more than losing a dear friend.'

The Freud smiled. 'I know.'

And as the Freud and Phantom parted ways, each to meet his end.

Freud closed his eyes. The last of the tears slipped through his eyelids, down the cheeks that were raised in a bitter, resigned smile.

'Forgive me, Phantom,' he whispered.

And he found that it was truly the last of the strength that he could muster, there were no more chances to be had, and he had already used his last breath.

It was easy in the darkness under his eyelids to imagine that he was simply curled up in a taller man's embrace, with a comforting scent and heady warmth surrounding him, even easier still to imagine the softness of lips pressed to his forehead and a muted whisper - _Goodnight, Freud, and sweet dreams_ - ghosting across the locks of his hair.

He so desperately needed the sleep, he was so tired… he really needed those sweet dreams too, maybe he'd be able to meet Phantom in one of them.


End file.
